Stare Death in the Face
by Sparks
Summary: For nearly nine years, he has been running, keeping out of sight of officials with his daughter whilst he does his job as best he can. Now they are beginning to catch up, and they would like nothing more than to take her away from him...COMPLETED 09/04/02
1. Leaving Italy

Author's Notes: For nearly nine years, he has been running, keeping out of sight of officials with his daughter whilst he does his job as best he can. Now they are beginning to catch up, and they would like nothing more than to take her away from him...  
  
Warning: This is a HP/DM SLASH fanfiction. If you don't like that, I've warned you.  
  
Disclaimer: Nathalie belongs to me, as do various unnamed people. Anyone you recognise as being the creation of JK Rowling belongs to her and whichever publishing companies the books are published with. Paris and the other places named in this story belong to themselves and their nations.  
  
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A sunny morning, and a small child, a little girl with black hair tied into plaits, was skipping on the grass in front of the graveyard with a length of rope. She wore a black cloak, that kept on getting caught up in her rope, but it didn't seem to occur to her to take it off. To every person passing by, she looked sweet and innocent.  
  
To her father, standing in the graveyard and keeping an eye on her, she was behaving very well, thank you, and certainly doing her job.  
  
Which was to keep anyone from seeing what he was doing.  
  
He sighed, and dusted the dirt from his hands. More bad news. And he couldn't do anything about it. He rose, and lifted his cloak from its resting place on the top of the nearby grave. The heavy material, when he settled it over his shoulders, made him feel a little better. Shrouded once more in the black cloak, he pulled his hood up so his face was in shadow, and left the graveyard.  
  
The little girl was now talking eagerly to an old lady who had stopped for her, tugging on one plait in an illusion at innocence that was clearly working, because the old lady was cooing over her, and digging in one of her shopping bags for something.  
  
"Such a dear girl," the old lady smiled. "Would you like a sweetie?"  
  
"Yes, please," the little girl said eagerly, the skipping rope forgotten as she watched the lady try to find her sweets.  
  
"No, thank you," the man said firmly, coming up behind his daughter. "I'm afraid we must be going." The little girl glared petulantly up at him, but he shook his head once and she subsided, gathering her rope up, carefully tying it and giving it to him. It disappeared into a pocket of his cloak.  
  
The old lady was looking at him suspiciously. "And who might you be?" she inquired cautiously.  
  
The man smiled, although she couldn't see it. "I'm her father. I'm sorry to have stopped you, you must be very busy. Come along, Nathalie." He held out his had for his daughter to take, and she obediently did, sparing one last innocent smile at the old lady, who watched them leave worriedly.  
  
They rounded a corner, and the girl's innocent act disappeared.  
  
"Papa, she was going to give me a sweet," she whined. "Couldn't we have waited just a little while?" She was dragging her feet and kicking along a pebble. Her father spared her only a glance.  
  
"No, Nathalie," he told her firmly. "She would have recognised you again if you'd talked to her for any longer. You know we can't risk that." She sniffed, and gave the pebble and extra-hard kick, sending it scuttling off the pavement and into the road. "Nathalie," he said warningly. "Try to act your age, for once."  
  
"Yes, Papa," she murmured, and for a while walked alongside him in silence. When they had passed the row of houses and were coming up to the train station, she perked up. "Where are we going now, Papa?"  
  
Her father glanced down again, a small smile quirking his lips, though he didn't let her see it. "Who says we're going at all?"  
  
She rolled her eyes impatiently. "We're going to the station, Papa. What else would we be doing down here?"  
  
He relented. "Alright, cherie, we're going back to France - Paris this time. If we have time, I'll take you up the Eiffel Tower. Would you like that?"  
  
"Do we get to have croissants for breakfast again?" she demanded. He nodded. "Then yes, I want to go up the Eiffel Tower! Um, Papa?"  
  
"Yes, Nathalie?"  
  
"What *is* the Eiffel Tower?"  
  
He laughed, and swung her up in his arms. 'Oh, Nathalie. Sometimes I forget how young you are." The hood of his cloak fell back, and she caught a glimpse of hair as black as her own and green eyes, before he put her back on the ground and pulled his hood back up carefully. He pulled her hood up, hiding her black hair, and took her hand again.  
  
"Papa, what will we be doing in Paris?" she asked, stumbling over the strange pronunciation of the name. "Why do we have to leave here?"  
  
"Because there is no news here at present," came the reply. "Because Paris is where I am needed, and because we are both beginning to be recognised."  
  
Nathalie sighed. The reply was always the same, only the name of their destination changed. 'But Papa, of course we are recognised is we where the cloaks. Perhaps we could - "  
  
"No, Nathalie," her father said firmly. "You know why we wear the cloaks. Be proud of it, and please don't complain about them again." He paused, and glanced at her upset face as they entered the station. "Be happy, cherie," he added softly. "You're getting a chance that few do; to learn languages and see how others live."  
  
Nathalie didn't seem to think that this was a reasonable trade-off, because she sulkily fell behind him as he approached the ticket booth.  
  
"Due biglietti a Parigi," he said quickly. "A che ora?"  
  
"Fra venti minuti," the attendant said gruffly, typing into his computer. "Una bambina?"  
  
"Si," her father agreed. "Classe primo, per favore."  
  
"Bene," the attendant agreed. "Settantaquatro euro."  
  
The man counted out some notes, and passed them over in exchange for two tickets, then took Nathalie's hand again. They walked to the platform, and twenty minutes later, Harry and Nathalie Potter were speeding towards France.  
  
Italian Aurors walked into the station ten minutes after the train had left, but could get no details out of the muggle attendant who had served the man and girl dressed in black cloaks with silver fastenings in the shape of skulls.  
  
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To be continued.  
  
Due biglietti a Parigi. A che ora? Two tickets to Paris. At what time? Fra venti minute. Una bambina? In twenty minutes. One child? Si. Classe primo per favore. Yes. First class, please. Bene. Settantaquatro Euro. Good. Seventy-four Euros.  
  
If I have any of the Italian wrong.well, it's summer holidays. And if I have the Euro pricing wrong.well, England doesn't have the Euro, and I've only been to Europe once since it was introduced. Anyone, feel free to correct either. 


	2. Sunday Surprises

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews, it's encouraging since I wasn't so sure about this fic!  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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A dead weight settled on his stomach, and Harry sent a prayer up to whoever was listening that he was only *imagining* that his daughter had woken him up on Sunday morning before the sun had risen. He risked opening his eyes. Nathalie was sitting on him, her black hair coming out of the ponytail.  
  
"You forgot to unshrink my toothbrush," she announced. "I need to brush my teeth, they feel icky."  
  
He stared blankly at her. "Nathalie, it's -" he glanced at the clock on the bedside table, "Merlin, it's five-thirty. Couldn't you have waited until I woke up? You haven't had breakfast yet, anyway."  
  
"Grandpapa came and told me to wake you," Nathalie said innocently, though a twinkle in her silvery-grey eyes betrayed her. "Grandmamma said that you shouldn't lie in on Sunday, even *if* nobody is doing anything."  
  
Harry groaned, and stuck his head under a pillow. "Sometimes I rue the day," he muttered childishly. *Which day* a small voice in his mind poked. *There were several.*  
  
Then his daughter's words sunk in, and he lifted the pillow. "If it's Sunday," he began, "how did you talk to them?" Nathalie's eyes widened as she found herself caught out. The little finger of her right hand found its way to her mouth and she sucked on it. "Nathalie, are you or are you not nine years old?" With a pout she removed her hand, and defiantly dried it on his bedcovers. Harry raised an eyebrow, and she wriggled off his stomach, nestling her head against his chest.  
  
"You just wanted to climb into my bed, didn't you?" Harry demanded. She nodded, a little sleepily. "Oh, Nathalie." He pulled her closer to him, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Go back to sleep, cherie."  
  
She did so quickly, but Harry lay awake, gazing at his daughter and remembering...remembering...  
  
"Stop that, Harry," came a laughing voice from the corner of the room. "You'll remember yourself into the grave."  
  
"Yes, Mum," Harry murmured dutifully. Then he opened his eyes and sat up, shifting Nathalie so that she was lying on the bed instead of him. "Mum?"  
  
Lily gave him a half-smile from the corner of the room. "Yes, Harry?"  
  
"But the blue blazes are you doing here?" he thundered. "It's *Sunday*! You're - you - "  
  
"Things are...changing, Harry," she said uncomfortably. "Hush, you'll wake up Nathalie."  
  
Harry muttered a string of expletives under his breath that would have made Lily blush if she had heard them; she wisely chose not to. Finally he shook his head. "Mum...what things are changing? You're here on a Sunday, that's...that's near impossible!"  
  
"But not actually impossible," she reminded him gently. "Others have done it before, and I had to warn you, darling."  
  
"Warn me about what?" he asked slowly. Unfortunately, Nathalie chose that moment to wake up. She opened her eyes, yawned in a way that Harry would have found adorable in other circumstances, and sat up.  
  
"Grandmamma!" she exclaimed. "You said you weren't coming till Monday!"  
  
Lily smiled tenderly at her granddaughter. "I know, Nathalie, but there was a change of plans." She met Harry's eyes again. "I have to go, James is calling me back - that means I've run out of time, the Others have realised what I'm doing. I'll try to come back tomorrow, but Harry - be careful, darling. They're..."  
  
Her voice faded away as she did, and Harry frowned thoughtfully. Something that Lily had said hadn't fit in with everything else, but he didn't know what.  
  
*Oh well,* he thought grimly after a moment, *I suppose I'll find out soon enough - after all, I'll be going down into the crypts tomorrow. Maybe they'll know what Mum was on about.*  
  
"I'm hungry," Nathalie announced. "Can we have pain au chocolat, since it's Sunday?"  
  
Harry groaned, and tumbled out of bed. "Come on then, Miss Energetic. Let's go have breakfast - and then you and I will have a lesson, since you haven't had one in days."  
  
"Good," Nathalie said decisively. "And then can we go to the Eiffel Tower?"  
  
*This is going to be a long day,* Harry decided, grabbing his ring from the bedside table and slipping it onto his finger. *Thank Merlin she might actually get to bed on time tonight.*  
  
Several hours later, when the local church bells had told the district that it was nine o'clock, and Harry had proclaimed that he might actually be awake enough to enjoy the view from the top of France's most famous monument, Nathalie was dragging him along the wide boulevard that led up to the Eiffel Tower.  
  
"Papa, it's huge!" she exclaimed. "Can we really go right up to the top? Can we? And do we have to walk all the way up there?" Harry gave here a rare smile.  
  
"Yes, we can really go right up to the top," he confirmed. "And no, we don't have to walk all the way up there - there's a lift."  
  
Her small face was alight with happiness, and he found himself wishing that he could give her such happiness more often. But no, he knew that was impossible. He knew that the Italians had nearly caught up to them at the train station the other day, and he was certain that they had contacted the French Aurors here, to tell them that he and his daughter were in France, probably in Paris.  
  
They could not stay here long, and yet he could not leave without the information he had come for.  
  
But he could do nothing about that information today, so he resolved to enjoy what little time he had today to spend making Nathalie happy.  
  
Starting with an ice-cream from that café over there.  
  
"Come on, Nathalie," he said, steering her away from the huge queues of people waiting to climb the Eiffel Tower, "let's have an ice-cream first."  
  
"Really?" she whispered, too amazed at the thought to squeal as she normally might have. "Can I...can I have a chocolate ice-cream?"  
  
She was surprised by the strange expression on Harry's face, for Harry was berating himself that his daughter should be excited at an ice-cream.  
  
*I thought*, he snapped at himself, *that I was going to bring her up differently to the way I was brought up?* Then he nodded at Nathalie.  
  
"You can have whatever you like," he promised. *Anything at all, cherie, to make up for the way you must lead your life.* "You can have three scoops, and chocolate sprinkles, and after we've been up the Eiffel Tower I'll take you around Paris," he continued. "Today, cherie, we will have fun."  
  
He was being foolish, and he knew it. *I will regret this later,* he mused. *They'll get closer. But I'll be damned if I let my daughter come to Paris and not see the sights.*  
  
They entered the small café, and Harry swiftly bought Nathalie the largest ice-cream sundae the place sold. They sat down at a table outside the café, and he sipped coffee whilst she slowly enjoyed every single lick of her treat.  
  
"Papa, have you been to Paris before?" Nathalie wanted to know after a while, when the sundae had greatly diminished in size and she had noticed her father watching the passers-by a little wistfully. Harry turned his attention to her and finished his coffee.  
  
"Yes, cherie," he replied. "I've been here...a few years before you were born."  
  
"Tell me?" she asked hopefully. Harry hesitated, and she pouted a little. Harry sighed, and she knew she had won.  
  
"Alright," he agreed. "But you can have it as a bedtime story, and not now, agreed?"  
  
"Agreed," Nathalie said quickly, before he could change his mind. He gazed at her for a moment before shaking his head in amusement.  
  
"Finish up your ice-cream, Nathalie, and then we'll go up the Tower," he told her. She smiled, her eyes lighting up, and he suppressed a wince.  
  
*Nine years she's been in my life - she's been my life,* he berated himself, *and I still haven't got used to those eyes...*  
  
An hour later they were at the top of the Eiffel Tower, Harry with a firm grip on Nathalie - he'd had experiences with her love of heights when he'd taken her up the Leaning Tower of Pisa and she'd tried to fly off it. Nathalie gazed over Paris with a rapture that made the tourists around them smile to see it. Harry watched his daughter and gazed at Paris in turns.  
  
He wished he hadn't said that he'd bring Nathalie up here. It was disturbing, being up here when the last time he'd been up here had been with -  
  
"Nathalie, look," he said, pointing across the city. "That's Sacre Coeur; if you're good, I'll take you there later." She grinned, then her grin faded to be replaced by mild puzzlement. She tugged on Harry's hand, bringing him down to her level.  
  
"What is it, cherie?" he asked her quickly. 'What's wrong?"  
  
"I think that man over there is a wizard," she told him thoughtfully. "Is he?"  
  
Harry straightened quickly, and looked to where Nathalie had indicated. He almost choked.  
  
"Come, Nathalie," he said hurriedly. 'We have to leave. Now." Nathalie, used to such instructions, followed him readily through the crowds towards the lift, but the people who had smiled indulgently at Nathalie now frowned, and didn't move as quickly as they otherwise might.  
  
"Pardon, pardon," Harry kept saying, but it was to no avail, the crowds were too thick. Nathalie struggled to keep hold of his hand, but suddenly a large man pushed past her, and she was knocked to the floor with a wail.  
  
Harry darted back to her, but someone was already there. The man who met his eyes did so with shock and disbelief, but Harry spared him no time to say anything. He grabbed Nathalie's hand and Apparated to their rented flat.  
  
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To be continued. 


	3. Maker of Fine Wands

Author's Notes: Thanks for all the reviews! I'm glad you all like Nathalie, she's sweet...  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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"Damn him!" Harry snapped, as he shoved the last of his clothes into his suitcase. "Damn it all to hell and back." He shoved the clock and his photo album into the suitcase, which was beginning to fall apart again. He pulled his wand from the pocket of his clock, which was carelessly flung over the bed. "*Reparo!*" *Not broken, but it looks a little smaller. I'll have to find a new one wherever we go next.*  
  
"Nathalie," he called. "Are you packed?"  
  
"Nearly, Papa," came her voice from the bedroom next to his. "Just let me..." She trailed off, and Harry, with a small chuckle, closed his suitcase. He made sure all his protection spells were in place on it, then he shrunk it and put it into one of the pockets of his cloak.  
  
"Nathalie!" he called again. She appeared at the door, and handed him her suitcase to shrink. He sighed, performed the charm, and tucked it into the pocket that held his own.  
  
*I really need to get her a wand,* he mused. *Maybe...maybe we should go to London...*  
  
"Was the information you needed very important, Papa?" Nathalie asked quietly. "Did I make things bad?" She looked so worried that Harry knelt down and gathered her close to him.  
  
"No, cherie," he soothed. "It's not anything that I can't find elsewhere; I can get them to come to me, after all, it just would have been easier here. Don't worry, nothing that happened is your fault." She nodded, and hugged him tightly for a moment.  
  
When she pulled back, Harry took her cloak from her hands and settled it over her shoulders. The thick material seemed to live on her, as it did on him. He fastened the Skull clasp, resting his fingers on it for a moment as a sadness passed over his features.  
  
Then he rose, and pulled on his own robe. "Come on, Nathalie," he said softly. "I've got an idea for you." He pulled out his wand again. "We're going to London," he told her.  
  
If her eyes had got any wider she would have looked like an house elf. "Oh, Papa, really?" she squeaked. He nodded. "Oh, wow! I've never been *there* - Muggle or wizard?"  
  
"Wizard," he told her, and her mouth dropped open, "which is why I need to put disguises on us, cherie, alright?" She nodded, closed her mouth, and waited for him to find his wand. He did, and muttered something under his breath as he brought the tip of the wand to rest on her forehead. She blinked at the slight tickling sensation, and then watched as he repeated the words, with the wand touching his forehead now, near to his scar. Slowly her father disappeared under the skin of a new man, a man she thought she recognised from somewhere...brown hair, blue eyes, shorter than her father was, yet still quite tall...  
  
She giggled. "Papa!"  
  
The eyes might be different, but the twinkle of amusement was the same. "Look in the mirror, oh reflection of history." She darted over to the mirror on the wardrobe door, and wrinkled her nose. "Don't you like it, cherie?"  
  
"Won't someone know us?" she inquired thoughtfully.  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows. "I doubt it. If they do, I know several *very* effective memory charms. And this is important, so it must be done. Come along." He leant over her shoulder and tapped the clasp of her cloak, making it appear plain, and then tapped his own. "There. No-one will even guess who we are now, or they shouldn't." He held out his hand for her to take.  
  
"Are we going by train?" she wanted to know, taking his hand.  
  
"No," Harry replied. "That takes too long, and the wizard we saw will have warned the French Aurors by now." He frowned. Apparating could be tracked, but they really didn't have any other option...  
  
"I'll try to make a Portkey before we try Apparating," he decided. "Portkeys can't be traced." He let go of Nathalie's hand and looked about the room for something that could be used. There was a small ornament on the window sill; he picked it up, and touched his wand to it. He muttered something under his breath, and put the new Portkey down hastily. "Nathalie." She hurried up. "When I say, put a hand on the ornament, alright? You'll feel a tugging, that's normal, and then we'll be in London." *I hope,* he silently added. It had been a long time since he'd made a Portkey.  
  
"Okay, now," he instructed. Nathalie reached for the Portkey; she touched it at the same time he did, and there was the tug at him navel - *I hate Portkeys* - and moments later Harry picked Nathalie up from where she had stumbled, dusted her off, and looked around.  
  
Not exactly where he'd hoped to end up, but close enough. *Although I'd hoped to never bring Nathalie down here.* They'd landed in a corner of Knockturn Alley.  
  
Nathalie looked around her with wide eyes, and quickly clasped Harry's hand. "Papa..."  
  
"Let's get out of here," Harry muttered. He dropped the ornament, and ground his foot into it. "Come on, Nathalie. Into Diagon Alley." They walked to the end of the Alley and into the bright sunshine of Diagon Alley.  
  
Harry felt a pang of regret. The last time he'd been here was...*too long ago,* he told himself. Nathalie was staring around them, eyes wide, which looked odd on her new appearance. He nudged her, and she blinked, and tried to look as though this wasn't her first time here.  
  
"This way," he murmured, steering her through the crowds towards one particular shop. "In here, cherie." He opened the shop door, pushed her inside, then closed the door behind them.  
  
Ollivander's hadn't changed in centuries, nor was it likely to. It was still dark, with a slightly musty smell, and there were still piles of wand boxes absolutely everywhere. Mr Ollivander himself was nowhere to be seen, so Harry stepped up to the counter, where a small bell was labelled 'please ring.'  
  
He rang, and waited. Nathalie was chewing on the end of one of her plaits thoughtfully.  
  
"Papa," she said slowly. "You already have a wand."  
  
Harry nodded. "I do, cherie, but you don't, and there's little more I can teach you without your own wand to practise with." He lifted his head as Mr Ollivander, looking the same as he had the day Harry had bought his wand, walked out of the back of the shop. He blinked when he saw Harry, and then looked closely at Nathalie, whose eyes were alight with surprise.  
  
"Can I help you?" he inquired slowly. Harry frowned at his odd glance, but nodded.  
  
"Yes, my daughter needs a wand." Nathalie beamed. Mr Ollivander raised an eyebrow curiously. "She's not going to school yet, but we travel a lot, and I'm not sure when we'll have time to come back and buy a wand," Harry enlarged.  
  
"I see," Mr Ollivander said briskly. "Which is your wand hand, young lady?"  
  
"Right," Nathalie replied, still grinning like a mad thing. Mr Ollivander produced a tape measure from somewhere, and began measuring Nathalie's arms, hand span, head diameter, then left the tape measure to measure her by itself whilst he perused the shelves for a wand.  
  
""Ah!" he exclaimed after a moment. "Try this. Ebony and unicorn hair, nine and a quarter inches." He pulled out a box, and held the wand out for Nathalie to try. "Wave it about," he instructed her. She swished it, and felt very silly when nothing happened. She glanced up at her father, who was smiling slightly. "No, no, here try this," Mr Ollivander said briskly, holding out another.  
  
It took half an hour to find a wand that suited Nathalie, and Harry was beginning to get a little worried, especially since he had glimpsed several wizards in Auror robes in the Alley through the window.  
  
"Try this one," Mr Ollivander said finally, lifting a wand out of the box. "Holly and dragon heart-string, ten inches." Nathalie, by now thoroughly bored, took the wand and carelessly waved it. Harry suddenly yelped as bright sparks shot up at his face.  
  
"Careful, Nathalie," he admonished, then looked up at Mr Ollivander. "Is this the one?"  
  
Mr Ollivander nodded. "Yes, I think it is," he said decisively. "That's eleven galleons." He took the wand back from Nathalie, who was now looking very pleased with herself, and put it back in the box. Harry, after digging about for a moment in one of his cloak pockets, produced eleven galleons, and then Nathalie tucked her new wand into a pocket of her own cloak.  
  
"I was wondering," Mr Ollivander said slowly, "if your own wand is still in good shape, Mr Potter."  
  
"Yes, thank -" Harry cut himself off, and stared in shock at the wand- maker. "How on earth?" he breathed. Nathalie, a little confused, took cover in the folds of Harry's cloak.  
  
"There's an anti-illusion spell put over the whole shop, Mr Potter," Mr Ollivander said airily. "A wand can't choose a wizard - or witch - when the owner is under a glamour and I can't really see them."  
  
"So why aren't there Aurors swarming the place right now?" Harry demanded curtly. "I'd have thought you wouldn't want us to go loose - after all, everyone else has that attitude."  
  
Mr Ollivander gave him an overly-patient look. "Mr Potter, what you are, and what your daughter is, is absolutely none of my business. All I do is sell wands. And there's a small yard through the back door, you can Apparate from there."  
  
Harry stared for a moment, then grinned despite himself. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Come along, Nathalie."  
  
"Thanks," Nathalie called back to the wand-maker as Harry pulled her through the shop. Mr Ollivander waited for a minute or two, then went to the fireplace in the corner and threw some powder into the fire.  
  
"The Ministry, Auror department," he stated clearly. A head appeared. 'Ah yes. I'd like to report a sighting of Harry Potter. He was in Diagon Alley, heading towards Knockturn Alley."  
  
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To be continued. 


	4. Riddle at Midnight

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews...the few of them...  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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Midnight, and hot, and Nathalie was swinging her legs thump-thump against the gravestone she was perched on, watching her father talking to a boy called Cedric Diggory in a low, concerned voice. She had been sent to this gravestone, just out of earshot, after she had refused to stop pestering Cedric with questions.  
  
"It's not *my* fault that I want to know things," she muttered rebelliously to the small boy sitting in the grave, watching her curiously. "It's not like I'll get to go to Hogwarts."  
  
"Nathalie," came Harry's warning voice. "Stop talking to random spirits, it's bad for them."  
  
He turned back to Cedric, who looked grave. "So that's what my mother was talking about? That's what's going on?"  
  
"Yes," Cedric agreed. "But I...I don't know that I should have told you, Harry, even though you are." He trailed off. "There's a lot going on," he said after a moment. "Not all of it is to do with the living - the Others are beginning to get...restless."  
  
"As long as they don't get restless for the living," Harry muttered. Cedric didn't meet Harry's eyes, but Harry decided not to press it. "I'd better go," he said instead. "Nathalie's getting bored, and the Aurors will start to trace me if I use much more magic."  
  
"They're starting to trace you anyway," Cedric told him hesitantly. "It's - it's all over the country, Harry. The Aurors knew where you were in Derbyshire, before you'd even left - it was pure chance that you left before they got there, and it's better for you that you travel by Muggle ways. But Harry, you won't be able to keep running for much longer."  
  
Harry looked over at his daughter, who was animatedly talking to the same small boy. "I intend to run for as long as I can," he murmured. "I can't let them take her away." He looked back at Cedric, only to find him gone. "Damn."  
  
He stayed where he was for a long moment, fingering the skull clasp of his cloak. As much as he hated to admit it, Cedric was right. They couldn't keep running, he needed Nathalie to be safe. But the safest place he knew was the place he was least likely to be accepted.  
  
"Nathalie," he called. "Come along, and stop talking to that boy!" Nathalie looked up guiltily, muttered something to the boy, who was already fading, slid off her gravestone and ran along to him. "Nathalie, I've told you before."  
  
"Yes, Papa," she agreed. "But Papa, he was only - "  
  
"I don't want to hear it," Harry overrode her. 'You know the rules - do you want to get caught? We must be especially careful now, here, because they keep such a close look here because I lived here before. Understand?"  
  
"Yes, Papa," Nathalie murmured, subdued. "I'm sorry."  
  
Harry sighed. "It's not your fault, cherie," he told her gently. "Come on, you need to get to sleep, it's far too late for you to be awake."  
  
"I'm nine years old!" Nathalie reminded him hotly as they began walking from the graveyard. "And it's only midnight, I've been up ever so much later than...this..." She bit her lip, and avoided his eyes. He raised one eyebrow.  
  
"Have you, indeed," he commented, a little disapprovingly. "Who kept you up, young lady?"  
  
But she wouldn't talk, and Harry resolved to find out who had been keeping her awake from one or other of his parents as soon as he could. Nathalie, he was amused to see, was yawning, and stumbling as she walked. When she nearly fell to her knees from tiredness, he scooped her up in his arms.  
  
"Go to sleep, cherie," he murmured. "We'll be home soon enough."  
  
Scant minutes later, Nathalie was tucked into bed, and Harry sat brooding in the armchair in the sitting-room of their rented flat. The things that Cedric had told him would not let him sleep tonight. The things that Cedric had told him would affect the whole world, if they came to pass, and yet...  
  
And yet the whole wizarding world was hunting him, and Nathalie, day and night, scarcely allowing either of them any rest. For nine years they had been running from Aurors and Ministries, and even from Dumbledore's Order itself.  
  
*And all because,* he thought, a little bitterly, *I was stupid enough to learn about what I am.*  
  
He lifted his hand so that the dancing candlelight played over the ring on his finger. The silver skull...he would never escape its brand nor, he realised, would he want to. But Nathalie...  
  
He wished he could give Nathalie more, but she would always be what she was. She could not deny that, and neither could he.  
  
His thoughts strayed to the man they had seen at the top of the Eiffel Tower. That had been the closest they had come for years to being caught, and he had no doubts that the man would have handed them over to either the French Aurors or the English.  
  
"Draco..." he murmured. "Where did we go wrong?"  
  
*You know exactly where you went wrong,* a nasty little voice in his mind prodded. *You know exactly why it never would have worked out. He couldn't stand the thought of what you are.*  
  
"Shut up," he hissed. Then realisation hit him. "Merlin. Talking to myself, that can't be a good sign." He closed his eyes. *Damn, I wish I had some whisky.* But no, he couldn't have whisky anymore. Just one of the many prices he had to pay.  
  
"That all depends, my dear Harry, on what signs you are looking for."  
  
Harry's eyes flew open. "Please don't do that," he entreated. "It's really quite annoying."  
  
"Oh, fine. I'll go then, shall I?"  
  
"Oh, stay," Harry muttered. "Not that either option will do you much good, with what I've heard."  
  
Godric shrugged. "That depends on your point of view."  
  
Harry gazed at him quizzically. "Have you been spending a lot of time with Salazar lately?" Godric grinned unrepentantly. "Well, please stop, it gets bloody annoying."  
  
"Oh, don't say that," Godric complained. "If you say that, I'll really have to stop, and were getting along so well at the moment - Merlin hasn't complained about us for months." Harry gave him a look. "Weeks, then."  
  
"Fine," Harry muttered. 'Do whatever you want, it's not like I really care." He closed his eyes again. Godric frowned worriedly at his young friend. After a moment, Harry opened one eye. "I am trying to go to sleep," he remarked. "Do you think -"  
  
"I'll go," Godric said quickly. "But Harry, they'll be here soon." He slowly disappeared, and Harry groaned.  
  
"After a remark like that, he expects me to sleep," he muttered. "How on earth did I end up in *his* house?"  
  
He slept, and dreamt of darkness and shadow creeping around him, claiming him as their child, and the Others clamouring for more than they had...more than they had any right to have...  
  
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To be continued. 


	5. Dangerous Reactions

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews! I've replied to a couple at the end of the chapter, but I don't think that'll be a regular thing.  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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It took a day or so for Godric's parting words to Harry to actually make sense; when they did, it was almost too late, but he and Nathalie managed to flee Essex and boarded a plane to southern Ireland without being followed.  
  
At least, that's what Harry thought, and none of the spirits he spoke to told him otherwise, because they knew things that he did not, and should not, know.  
  
Two days later, Harry realised his mistake.  
  
It was a fairly sunny morning, considering that it was southern Ireland, and Harry was sitting at an outdoor table of a café, reading a muggle newspaper carefully and keeping half an eye on Nathalie, who was playing a ball game with some children on a grassy area next to the café.  
  
His coffee arrived, and he absently sipped it as he read about the strange things that had started to happen all over the United Kingdom. He knew perfectly well what was causing these things - which ranged from animals suddenly going mad and turning on their owners to children talking about things they couldn't possibly know about from the past - but he also knew that the muggles didn't have a clue in hell of working out why it was happening.  
  
*Because to muggles,* he thought to himself with a touch of amusement, *nothing is so strange it is only explainable by magic.* He sighed, and sipped his coffee. *And this is practically unexplainable even in magical terms.* He glanced up to make sure Nathalie was still there, and noted a spirit standing at the edge of the grass gazing at him. He gave the slightest of nods, and returned his eyes to the newspaper, although he wasn't really reading it anymore. *Maybe I should contact the others...*  
  
But no, he knew that wouldn't be a good idea, not with the Aurors of fifteen countries out to get him and Nathalie. That kind of magic, all gathered in one place, would attract spirits from all over, and that would attract Aurors, and that was a risk Harry wasn't prepared to take.  
  
Not just yet, anyway. If the Others got more...meddlesome, then he wouldn't have any choice, but for now, he had to keep Nathalie safe.  
  
He looked up again, and almost choked. Two men were talking to Nathalie, and she was looking nervous. That could mean only one thing, even though the men were wearing muggle clothes.  
  
He flung some coins into the table, left his newspaper, and hurried over to his daughter. He placed a hand on her shoulder protectively and met the eyes of the two Aurors.  
  
*Oh Merlin,* he thought dangerously. *This might make things harder.*  
  
It was Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom.  
  
His two former friends had been chasing him all over Europe for five years, and although he'd managed to evade them thus far...today was not turning out to be his day.  
  
*Another bad day to add to the list.*  
  
"Gentlemen," he began, deceptively softly. "I don't suppose you'd mind leaving my daughter alone?" Nathalie reached up and grabbed his hand; he knew she was scared.  
  
"Harry Potter, you're under arrest," Ron said firmly, the only sign of his raging emotions begin the flicker in his eyes.  
  
Harry shrugged. "As you wish. You are aware, of course, how many times you lot have tried to arrest me before?" Then he lifted Nathalie up into his arms. "Feel free to try to come after me," he offered. "You don't know where I'm going though, so I should just give up now."  
  
Ron's eyes narrowed dangerously, but it was Neville who acted. He raised his wand - despite the muggles, some of whom were watching - and muttered a curse. Harry tensed, expecting it to hit him, but it didn't. Instead, Nathalie shrieked in pain, and began writhing about in his arms.  
  
Harry didn't spare the two Aurors a second glance; he Apparated quickly to their rented flat, and lay her on the bed. He quickly performed a spell to check what curse had been used on her, and promptly panicked. There were very few curses that didn't show up with that spell...and nothing had shown up.  
  
That meant one of two things. Either Nathalie had been hit with a very Dark curse, which he doubted considering the caster was an Auror, or she'd been hit with one of several very simple curses that happened to have a very bad effect on people like them.  
  
*Damn, damn, damn, shit, crap, damn,* Harry cursed silently. There was no way he could help her, he didn't know enough about their reactions to different areas and aspects of magic, and his daughter was writhing and shrieking from pain, and the only place he knew that might be able to help...  
  
The only place he knew...  
  
"I don't have a choice," he muttered, pulling on his cloak. Neither of them had unpacked, so he shrunk the suitcases hurriedly, stuck them in a pocket, grabbed Nathalie's cloak, gathered her into her arms again and Apparated to the edge of the ground of Hogwarts.  
  
It didn't take long for him to reach the front doors of the castle - it was a shorter distance than he remembered - but there was no-one about when he got there, so he pushed open the heavy doors and stepped into the place he had last entered nine and a half years ago.  
  
Nathalie gave a pain-filled shriek, and half the dead ghosts and spirits of the castle raced towards the entrance hall in response - as did half the living people.  
  
Dumbledore, as always, reached the entrance hall first of those living, and he stared in almost disbelief at the black-cloaked man and the shrieking girl he held.  
  
"Harry," he murmured.  
  
Harry looked up, away from his daughter, with desperation in his eyes. "She was hit - I don't know what - curse - Aurors - different effect on her, don't know what - " he stammered. Evidently Dumbledore caught the drift of what he was trying to say, because he turned calmly to madam Pomfrey, who had appeared next to him.  
  
"Miss Potter appears in need of medical attention," he remarked. "Would you, Poppy?" Pomfrey, pale and nervous-looking, nodded and approached Harry carefully.  
  
"Come on, Potter," she murmured. "Up to the hospital wing, we'll be able to help her there..."  
  
Harry followed her through the castle, up the familiar route to the hospital wing, and carefully placed Nathalie on a bed. The moment he retreated, to allow Pomfrey access, Nathalie's eyes flew open.  
  
"Papa!" she shrieked. "Papa, Papa!"  
  
Harry was at her side again in a moment. "I'm here, cherie," he soothed. She gasped in pain again, and Pomfrey grabbed Harry's arm.  
  
"If you don't move, she will most likely die," she snapped. "Even a half- trained medi-witch would know that!"  
  
Harry looked back at his daughter, and slowly nodded. He moved away, and she shrieked. The faintest touch of a ghostly hand on his arm made him move back. Pomfrey darted forward and began 'scanning' Nathalie with her wand as James and Lily Potter soothed their granddaughter in the way only the spirits could.  
  
A hand came down on Harry's shoulder, and he nearly jumped a foot, then turned to meet Dumbledore's eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said brokenly. "I didn't...I didn't know where else..."  
  
"Of course, dear boy," Dumbledore agreed jovially. "However your being here may cause some...problems."  
  
"Of course," Harry agreed distractedly, glancing over his shoulder as Nathalie whimpered. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "But, Nathalie, and I.....I didn't have anywhere else to take her, and..."  
  
"Of course," Dumbledore said again. "I imagine that she will be under the tender care of Madam Pomfrey for some time, considering the violent reaction to whichever curse it was. Perhaps you and I should talk."  
  
"I...I don't want to leave her," Harry murmured. "She...she's all I have, Professor."  
  
A gleam of sympathy entered Dumbledore's eyes, and he opened his mouth to say something, but he was stopped by the hospital door banging open and a familiar black-haired, black-eyed man striding through in a fury.  
  
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" he roared, "BY LETTING THAT - THAT - THAT THING INTO THIS SCHOOL?"  
  
That startled Harry out of his panic. He looked up, and met Snape's eyes calmly. "We prefer to be called Necromancers," he retorted. "Not 'things'."  
  
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To be continued.  
  
T.K. Yuy - the thing you dismissed in your review as not being what is described in 'Stare Death in the Face' will be explained further, so don't have a panic attack, please! And I'm not evil. Well, not evil incarnate, anyway.  
  
Everyone else, stuff will be explained soon. Well, some stuff, anyway. 


	6. Death and Dumbledore

Author's Notes: I've re-written this about five times, and I think I'm finally satisfied. Maybe. Ah well, I probably won't be able to post another chapter tomorrow, so I may as well post this to keep you all going, and to stop anyone trying to kill me.  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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Half a day or so later, and it was with great surprise that Harry awoke and realised that he'd fallen asleep. Nathalie was no longer lying on the bed with him; he sat up with sudden anxiety, and his eyes fell on Nathalie, gravely sitting on the bed next to him and talking to Professor Dumbledore, who sat on a chair.  
  
"And how did you enjoy that, my dear?" Dumbledore was asking congenially. Nathalie shrugged, chewing on one of her black plaits.  
  
"It was alright," she replied. "It was too hot, and we didn't get to see anything interesting. Papa just wanted to talk to the silly dead people there - and none of them would talk to me, they thought I was -"  
  
"Nathalie," Harry cut in warningly. Both Nathalie and Dumbledore looked over at him; Nathalie joyfully slid from the bed and almost leapt into his arms.  
  
"Papa, Papa, we're at Hogwarts!" she exclaimed. Harry couldn't help it; he laughed at her, and with her, and she, not quite understanding his mirth, giggled. Harry met Dumbledore's eyes over her head, and sombred.  
  
"Yes, cherie, we're at Hogwarts," he agreed with her. "But you're better now, so we have to leave."  
  
"No need for that, Harry," Dumbledore spoke up. "I have not informed the Aurors of your presence here - nor am I going to."  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow. "However I assume it is only a matter of time before Snape does," he reminded the old wizard, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "And besides, it isn't safe for us to be here."  
  
"Hogwarts is one of the safest places in all Europe," Dumbledore reminded him. "And Severus will do nothing of the sort." Harry snorted in disbelief. "He will not, Harry, trust me on this point."  
  
"Papa, who's Sev- Sev- Severus?" Nathalie wanted to know, stumbling over the name. She wrinkled her nose. "That sounds like Salazar."  
  
"He's a teacher here," Harry answered absently. Then he frowned. "And since when have you talked to Salazar?" She blushed, and wouldn't meet his eyes. "Oh, he's the one keeping you up at nights, is he? I'll have to talk to him about that."  
  
"Salazar Slytherin?" Dumbledore inquired carefully. "One of the Founders?" Harry bit his lip, and nodded. "Of course - that would be why your daughter had such a violent reaction to such a simple curse. She is a Necromancer also."  
  
"There was never any question that she wouldn't be, considering how -" Harry cut himself off. Dumbledore gazed at him shrewdly for a moment, then looked down at Nathalie, who was lying contentedly in Harry's arms.  
  
"Perhaps Nathalie would like to have a look around the castle," he suggested innocently. "I'm sure someone could show her around."  
  
"No," Harry said firmly. "Too dangerous - someone might report her."  
  
"Not everyone knows what she looks like," Dumbledore reminded him. "If she doesn't wear the symbol of Necromancy," he indicated the black cloaks, which lay on the end of the bed, "she will be safe enough - and I doubt that she could be taken out of the castle against her will."  
  
"True enough," Harry agreed, with a small smile. "Alright - who, though?"  
  
"I rather thought our new Transfigurations professor," Dumbledore remarked, a twinkle in his eyes. "I believe she's waiting outside. Nathalie, could you go and open the door for me?"  
  
Nathalie, with a slight frown of puzzlement, slid from her place on Harry's bed, went to open the door of the hospital wing.  
  
Professor Hermione Granger almost fell through it, and descended on Harry like a flock of birds.  
  
"Harry Potter, if you ever run off like that again I'll kill you!" she shrieked, and hugged him so tightly that he could barely breathe. Nathalie stared at them, stupefied.  
  
"Hermione - 'Mione -" Harry managed. "Breathe - can't-" She let go of him quickly with a hasty apology. "Ugh. Thanks."  
  
"Hermione, my dear," Dumbledore began smilingly, "I'm sure you will have plenty of time to talk to Harry later." He ignored Harry's sudden guilty look. "But I need to talk to him at present, and young Nathalie would like to see the castle. Would you mind showing her about?"  
  
Hermione turned, and paled when she set eyes on Nathalie, meeting the young girl's silvery-grey eyes with shock.  
  
"Harry," she breathed. "Does he - does she?"  
  
"No, and no," Harry told her quickly. "And no, you're not to say anything, Hermione." She looked at him hard for a moment, then slowly nodded, and moved towards Nathalie and the door.  
  
'Come on, Nathalie," she said, overly-cheerful. "I'll show you all the places where your father used to get in trouble..." Her voice faded as they disappeared from sight down the corridor. Harry looked almost incredulously at Dumbledore.  
  
"How long has Hermione been teaching?" he inquired.  
  
"Some time now," Dumbledore replied airily. "Now, I believe you were about to tell me why there was no doubt that Nathalie would be a Necromancer - am I right in thinking that not all children of Necromancers are Necromancers themselves?"  
  
"Yes, that's right," Harry agreed slowly. "But...but if a male Necromancer..." He sighed, and tried again. "All Necromancers have the ability to conceive," he explained. "Our children are Necromancers only if we ourselves have carried the child." He met Dumbledore's eyes with a little morbid curiosity.  
  
"So you carried Nathalie," Dumbledore guessed. Harry nodded. "But that could only happen if the other person, the other conceiver, was a man, since if it was a woman she would have carried the child and Nathalie would not be a Necromancer."  
  
"Well, she might have been," Harry allowed. "It is sort of an hereditary trait, but there was no doubt about it, since I carried her."  
  
"And the father?" Dumbledore inquired delicately. Harry's face closed up. This was obviously a subject on which he would say nothing. After a moment, Dumbledore wisely changed the subject. "I was wondering if perhaps you might care to set the record straight about Necromancers, once and for all."  
  
Harry frowned slightly. Once and for all..."It wouldn't be once and for all," he said aloud. "No-one else will believe anything about the Necromancers except that we raise the dead to kill the living."  
  
"At least set the records straight for those of the Order who are here at Hogwarts," Dumbledore suggested. "I should imagine that having one less group chasing you could only be advantageous."  
  
Harry hesitated one last time, then nodded. "Alright. I'll explain what we are to the Order, but." He took a deep breath. "But I can't explain everything," he admitted. "Some things.some things *can't* be explained, because you can never experience them." There was a note of shame in his voice, and he knew he wouldn't have been able to say what exactly it was directed at. "I...there are times, Professor, when I almost believe that everyone is right about us. That we are evil, and we aren't to be trusted."  
  
Dumbledore looked at him seriously. "I can't speak about the rest of the Necromancers, Harry, but I can say this: I trust you implicitly, regardless of what the Necromancers are, regardless of what you do or have done."  
  
Harry closed his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured. *His trust means more to me than a lot of things,* he realised. *I wonder if it's real.*  
  
The hospital door opened, and a man stepped through. The bottom fell from Harry's stomach.  
  
*Oh,* he thought dizzily. *I should have remembered that he's part of the Order.*  
  
Green eyes met silvery-grey, and for a long moment they were suspended in time.  
  
Then Harry's eyes clouded over, and he gave a shriek, and his body collapsed onto the bed as his mind was taken into the lands of the spirits by the Others.  
  
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To be continued. 


	7. The Others

Author's Notes: Okay, I said I wouldn't be able to update today, but I sort of couldn't stop writing this chapter, so I may as well post it. Sorry, Draco has yet again been pushed into the next chapter.  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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His soul is torn across reality and time. For one excruciating moment he is in a million places at once, and nowhere at the same time. For a moment he is spread across two worlds...  
  
And then his soul comes to rest in the land of the spirits.  
  
He looks around wildly - this has never happened to him against his will before. The Others surround him, silent, grim spectres of death, and he knows this is not their true form, because he has seen them before, seen them as they were created to be seen.  
  
"This isn't right," he says, his voice sounding distant to him, as if he is only hearing an echo. "You shouldn't have done this - you aren't allowed..."  
  
"Who is to say that?" one of the Others demands contemptuously, stepping forward and lifting its hand so that it hovered over his white, shining skin. "The Creators pay no more attention to us than you do, little Necromancer. Why should we not take more? Why should we have less than the spirits, who do less than we do for your living world?"  
  
"Because it isn't right," he breathes, flinching away from the near-touch. "It's not what you are, it's not what you're supposed to be." The Other moved back, hiding amongst the darkness of its companions. He tries again. "This - you aren't allowed to bring me here. You've been stopping the spirits coming - you weren't created to do that!"  
  
"We have evolved," an Other whispers at him. "Is not that what you living people do? You evolve, and so do we."  
  
"You were not meant to evolve," he says, tired now, weary from defending himself against the wisps of darkness that they have been sending at him. The Others are coming closer now, step by slow step, and he tries to back away, but they are behind him as well, and he cannot escape. One of them reaches out and touches him, and he cries out, a dark burn visible on his arm when the Other pulls back. "No! You were not meant to do any of this! You were not created to go to the living world, you were not created to disrupt any of it!"  
  
'Why should we not?" an Other demands in a hissing breath. "We are Chaos. We are Entropy. We are the beginning and the end and the destination of all things made of Order. We are like you, little Necromancer."  
  
"No," he gasps. "No, I am not like you. I stand for all that you are not. I am light, you are dark. I am dark, you are light."  
  
"Make up your mind, little Necromancer," yet another Other taunted. "Are you dark, or are we?"  
  
"I...I don't know," he admits, full of shame at not knowing, and they laugh at him, laugh at his confusion as they press closer to him, but don't touch him yet.  
  
"We are brothers and sisters to you and your kind," an Other tells him vindictively. "We are made out of the same Chaos and Darkness, we and you. We only seek what you have."  
  
"What I have," he repeats in confusion. "What do I have?"  
  
They reach out for him with their dark, shape-less hand-forms, and he flinches in expectation.  
  
"No! Leave him alone!" calls someone sharply. He looks up, relief and hope on his face, and the Others begin to retreat, snarling, hissing, spitting, furious that their sport is disturbed. Several people, spirits, shining softly white, purer than he shines, come up to him. One of them, a woman, presses her hand to his burn, and the pain begins to fade.  
  
They are saying something to him, but he can scarcely hear it. They look worried, and one of them presses a hand to his cheek.  
  
"He's so cold," they say to each other. "This isn't right...this is only his soul, where is his body?"  
  
"They pulled me," he says dazedly. "I'm still at Hogwarts..."  
  
A woman takes him into her arms, embracing him gently, and he sighs in almost happiness. He knows he belongs here, it is tranquil here in her arms. And yet.yet another part of him knows that more of him belongs elsewhere. There are other things that need him, other people...  
  
Living people.  
  
It takes great effort to pull himself from her arms. "I can't leave," he realises. "My body is there, and I can't get back to it. She...she doesn't know how."  
  
One of the he-spirits disappears quickly, and he frowns. The she-spirit who had held him so tenderly turns to one of the other he-spirits, mutters something, and the he-spirits disappear also.  
  
Then the he-spirit who had disappeared comes back, with a small smile on his face.  
  
"There's another Necromancer there," he says, clearly happy. "You'll be safe soon, Harry."  
  
He remembers that Harry is his name, and he nods slowly. "Yes. Safe. Home." He looks up at the she-spirit, and remembers that she is his mother. "But I want to stay with you."  
  
She shakes her head, smiling sadly at him. "No, Harry. But I'll see you soon." She presses a kiss to his cheek, and her touch doesn't burn her as the Others' touch did, but it is strange, as if either she or he is *not right* in some way.  
  
He is beginning to fade, and in desperation he reaches out to touch his mother, but his hand goes through her, and he isn't certain whether it is she that is becoming in substantial or whether it is him, but whoever it is he cannot touch her, and his gaze flies to the he-spirit, who he remembers is his father, and he opens his mouth to say something...  
  
Only now he is flying in a million different pieces, and he screams in agony as his soul is ripped apart and then put back together, and sucked back into his body, lying writhing on the hospital bed in Hogwarts, only then he can't see himself anymore, and -  
  
Harry screamed one last time, and then lay gasping on the bed. His eyes flew open, and he opened his mouth in astonishment at who he saw.  
  
The woman, dressed in a black cloak fastened with a silver skull, smiled down at him. "It's alright, Harry. They haven't got you anymore, you're back here with us." Then she leant down, and gathered him in his arms as he wept tears of frustration and fatigue.  
  
"Oh, I was so afraid," he whispered. "They were...oh." He rested his head on her shoulder, feeling better already. "How did you know to come here?"  
  
"I didn't," she shrugged. "I was coming here anyway, I knew you were here, and I wanted to make sure you were alright, and Nathalie. I knew you wouldn't come here for just anything."  
  
He gave a humourless chuckle. "No, of course not," he agreed. "No...I made a mistake, and they caught up with me, and I had no other choice." He lifted his head from her shoulder at last, and smiled weakly at her. "You shouldn't have come, Rachel."  
  
"Well, no, probably not," she agreed practically. "But it's a very good thing I did - tell me, Harry, do you remember *anything* I taught you about anchors?"  
  
"I wasn't expecting it," Harry brushed her off. "And it wasn't." He trailed off. "It was different, this time," he said at last. She gazed at him sympathetically.  
  
"Of course it was," she murmured. "Oh, Harry."  
  
They both looked up as the hospital door burst open, and Nathalie hurled herself at Harry with a shriek. Harry hugged her tight, and she sobbed.  
  
"Nathalie was very worried," Rachel told him in a low voice. "She knew what was going on, but she didn't know how to call you back." Harry spared her a thankful glance, and then pulled Nathalie from him a little.  
  
"I'm alright," he soothed her. "I'm fine, it's alright." She gave a choked kind of laugh, and then hugged him again.  
  
"Don't do that again, Papa," she told him fiercely. "Don't ever, never do that again!"  
  
"I promise, cherie," Harry whispered. "I promise I'll never do that again." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she sighed, content. "Are you alright, Nathalie?"  
  
"I am now," she replied. "But, Papa, grandpapa came, and told me to tell you that you should listen to what the Others said."  
  
Harry stiffened, and Nathalie pulled away, gazing at him inquisitively. Rachel was watching him emotionlessly, and he knew that she was somewhat aware of what had happened when he was in the land of the spirits.  
  
"There are people waiting outside," she said after a moment. " Your...Professor Dumbledore called them the 'Order'. Shall I let them in?"  
  
Harry quickly assessed himself, and nodded. "Alright. I'll have to talk to them sooner or later, after all."  
  
Rachel went to the door, and Harry settled back on the bed, Nathalie happily lying against him. As the whole Order of the Phoenix trooped into the hospital wing, he had eyes for only one person.  
  
Draco Malfoy, who looked thoroughly pissed off.  
  
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To be continued. 


	8. Partial Explanations

Author's Notes: Ooh, I managed another chapter! Wow, I didn't think I'd manage even one...Okay, just for the record, since I'm not answering reviews individually, for those of you who didn't read 'Chained' and so don't know my standard reply to questions asked in reviews, here it is (plus variations):  
  
You'll find out...eventually. Maybe. I promise. You'll have to wait and see! You'll get to find out next chapter. I think.  
  
Okay?  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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Once the Order of the Phoenix had settled into the room on various chairs or beds, Harry allowed himself to look around at them all. Despite what Dumbledore had said about 'only those who were here', only a few members were missing from the Order as they were now.  
  
Rachel gave him an amused glance, and it was clear what she was thinking - Harry was thinking it himself, but he wouldn't let himself really admit it.  
  
Admit that there was no way in hell any of this lot - with the notable exception of Dumbledore - was ever going to believe anything about the Necromancers except that they were evil and heralded death.  
  
*Well, they sort of have a point,* Harry mused. *We do herald death sometimes.* He risked a glance at Draco, but Draco was gazing disinterestedly at the floor.  
  
"Well, Harry," Dumbledore started, "perhaps you could start by explaining what exactly a Necromancer is, since I think we are all working under bad information."  
  
Harry shrugged. "Well, it would be easier to start with what we do, if that's alright." Dumbledore gave an encouraging nod. "Alright. Erm." He looked inquiringly at Rachel, who shook her head. "Right. Well, Necromancers..." He sighed. "Actually, I suppose there really isn't any easy way to explain us."  
  
"We talk to the spirits," Nathalie piped up. "And the Others, and the Creators, and we can go into the land of the spirits, only Papa doesn't like me going in there, he says I'm too...young..." She trailed off and risked a glance at Harry's outraged face. "Uh, oops?" she offered.  
  
"Let me guess," Harry said tautly. "Salazar?" Nathalie nodded meekly. *I'm going to kill him!* Harry raged silently. *Only of course, he's already dead.* "Nathalie, if you see him again, come and find me *immediately*, do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, Papa," Nathalie murmured obediently, and only Harry didn't see her crossed fingers behind her back. One of the Order guffawed, and Harry glanced up at one of his father's best friends with a strange expression that was quickly shaken away.  
  
"Nathalie's right," he said after a moment. "That's pretty much all we do. We speak to spirits - and that's not just ghosts - and we travel into the land of the spirits."  
  
Rachel shifted slightly in her seat, and Harry shot her a warning glance.  
  
"And you also raise the dead," Snape snapped at them. "You can't deny it - your very name proclaims it to the world." Harry's eyes flashed, and Nathalie glowered at Snape. Several people suddenly found it very hard to not laugh.  
  
"I resent that accusation!" It wasn't Harry who had said that, it was Rachel. She had risen from her seat on Harry's bed, and now stood tall, her cloak swaying around her menacingly. All eyes were riveted to her. "The word necromancy does, I admit, have connotations of raising the dead in it, but you should never, ever assume something about a person just because they are called something because of their abilities - I swear, Severus Snape, you would be prejudiced against yourself if that wouldn't be too incredible, even for you!"  
  
There was a stunned silence. Then:  
  
"How in earth did you know that about Severus?" inquired a delighted Remus Lupin. "You've described him perfectly." Snape tried to glare at both Rachel and Remus; it didn't work.  
  
"I happen to be very good friends with his mother," Rachel replied, cooling a little. Snape flinched. "She says hello, by the way."  
  
"So you're a Necromancer as well?" inquired Hermione interestedly. "What's it like?" Rachel gave Harry a bemused glance; he shrugged nonchalantly.  
  
"It's hard," he replied for Rachel. "Nathalie and I have been running from Ministries, and you lot, for nine years. The other Necromancers - there are about ten of us - have it easier. They haven't been discovered. I only was because I'm..."  
  
"Because you're Harry Potter," Dumbledore completed quietly. "Harry, *do* you raise the dead?"  
  
"Yes, sometimes," Harry said evenly, looking the old wizard in the eyes. Several members of the Order muttered to each other. "I've only ever done it once." He looked down. "It was...very difficult."  
  
"Not to mention time-consuming," Rachel murmured. Harry bit down a laugh. *Understatement,* he grinned inwardly. *I was unconscious with the effort for three days.* Afterwards Rachel had almost killed him for attempting it by himself. But he'd felt it was worth it, for *that* person.  
  
"Why did you? Who was it?" Bill Weasley wanted to know, leaning forward a little. Harry looked at him with an inward flinch. Bill didn't look as condemning as his youngest brother had when they'd been face to face less than a day ago, but he didn't look welcoming or interested as Dumbledore, Hermione and Remus did.  
  
"That's not important," he replied quickly. "The person is now alive and well, and living somewhere in Africa - I'm not sure exactly where, I haven't heard from him in a while. Not that it's important."  
  
Now, finally, Draco looked up at him, a queer look in his eyes. "How was Sirius when you heard from him?" he asked, a little harshly.  
  
Remus frowned. "Draco, Sirius is dead," he reminded the younger wizard. Rachel gave a snort, and Remus turned his head ever so slowly to look at Harry, who gazed evenly back. "Merlin."  
  
"No, Sirius," Harry corrected. "Merlin would never agree to being brought back, even if any of us thought that it would be a good idea."  
  
"Harry, you're shocking them," Rachel advised him. "Slow down."  
  
Harry closed his eyes briefly. *Why did it have to be Rachel?* he groaned inwardly. *Why couldn't it have been Toby, or Mika, or Jessica?*  
  
"Papa, is he the man we saw in Paris?" Nathalie asked suddenly, sitting up and pointing at Remus.  
  
"Yes, cherie," Harry replied absently. "Don't point, it's rude." He looked over at Remus. "I'm sorry about that, but I couldn't take any chances." Remus nodded silently, and Harry looked over the Order again. "If you all don't mind, Nathalie and I must be leaving," he announced suddenly. "There's a lot I need to do - and I need to talk to you," he added in a low voice to Rachel, who nodded.  
  
"Harry, you still haven't explained to us what exactly a Necromancer is," Dumbledore reminded him. "If we are to have any hope of persuading the Ministry not to chase you, we must know everything."  
  
Caught off guard, Harry's eyes flew to Draco's, meeting them for a moment, before returning to Dumbledore. "You'd do that?" he asked carefully. "You'd...try to change their minds about us?"  
  
"About time someone did," Rachel muttered. "Do any of you have a clue how long Necromancers have been hiding from wizards - and with our job, too!"  
  
"What is your job?" Snape demanded. Rachel and Harry gave each other a long, meaningful look, and Nathalie chewed on the end of her plait worriedly.  
  
"We keep the balance between Chaos and Order," Harry said finally. *Only it's more than that,* he realised suddenly.  
  
"We keep in place the boundaries between the living and the dead," Rachel continued.  
  
*It's more than that too,* he mused.  
  
"We *are* the balance between Chaos and Order," Harry realised thoughtfully. "Since we are both."  
  
"Only I'm more Chaos than Order - grandpapa said so," Nathalie announced. Harry grinned, and ruffled her hair, and she pouted at him.  
  
"Grandpapa...James..." Remus looked white now, and only the Necromancers could see the spirit who suddenly came into being next to the werewolf. James sent a sad smile at his son, then brushed his insubstantial fingers over his friend's hand.  
  
Harry made a decision, one that he would probably regret later. "Remus," he said aloud, "There's someone waiting to talk to you outside." Remus gave him a quizzical look, and Harry nodded at the door. James' eyes lit up, and he followed Remus out. The moment the door was closed behind them, Harry made James visible to ordinary eyes.  
  
"You shouldn't have done that," Rachel told him disapprovingly. "Do you want the Ministry swooping down on us like a pack of hounds?"  
  
"They won't be able to tell from that," Harry dismissed. "You worry too much, Rachel." He pushed back the bed covers and stood up carefully, finding that he was dressed in the same old hospital pyjamas that he had always worn in here as a student.  
  
"And you worry too little for someone who's been on the run for nine years!" she flared.  
  
Harry froze. The entire room was thick with the tension between them. Harry and Rachel were glaring at each other, and slowly the Order left them, afraid of what might happen if they made the smallest sound. Even Dumbledore left, to talk to the Order and make sure everyone was clear that Harry was not evil, and never had been.  
  
Except Draco, who finally moved. He stood up, and stepped towards the two Necromancers. He was stopped by a small hand on his arm.  
  
"Don't do that," Nathalie warned him, suddenly seeming very grown up. "It's not a good idea. Papa can explode things when people interrupt him when he's arguing with Zia Rachel."  
  
"Zia...that's Italian," he realised, not really looking at her. She nodded.  
  
"That was where I met her - Papa and me travel all over," she explained. "I can speak lots of languages - Papa says that it's useful and that it's a good sperience, but I'd rather be always in one place and be able to come to Hogwarts."  
  
He did look at her then, he really looked, and what he saw made him blink. He reached out and touched her cheek briefly, and then he looked at Harry.  
  
"Fine," Harry snapped at Rachel. "Have it your way. I made a mistake. It's not like you haven't made enough of them - dragging me into this whole mess in the first place, for example!"  
  
Rachel flinched as though she had been physically struck, turned smartly, and went to stand by the window, gazing out blindly. Nathalie glared at her father.  
  
"Papa, you shouldn't *say* that," she said crossly. "You're always telling me not to be nasty, and you've just *been* nasty to Zia Rachel!" She stomped over to Rachel, and hugged her tightly. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, then faced Draco.  
  
"Hello," he said blankly. Draco stared at him for all of two seconds before he punched him hard.  
  
"You bastard," he spat. "You never even told me!"  
  
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To be continued. 


	9. Papa and Daddy

Author's Notes: I'm sorry this took so long! I've been babysitting the past couple of nights when I would normally be writing, and then I had the world's worst headache for a day...but the chapter's up now, and it's...well, weird might not be the right world. Darkness next chapter, just to warn you.  
  
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Harry reeled back against the bed, tasting blood in his mouth. "I had no choice," he snapped. "And you made it perfectly clear you wanted nothing more to do with me."  
  
"You hid who you are from me, and then you expected me to deal with something that my entire world had been prejudiced against for my entire life!" Draco bellowed. "Did you really expect me to accept it in the space of two minutes that you gave me? Did you accept it that quickly?"  
  
"It's different," Harry said quietly after a moment. "It...I..."  
  
"You have no excuses," Draco muttered disgustedly. "You don't even have an explanation for me."  
  
"I don't need to explain myself to you," Harry retorted. "I don't now, and I didn't then."  
  
"Maybe not, but I deserved to know the truth," Draco flared. "And so does our daughter."  
  
Rachel turned and stared at Harry in shock. Nathalie detached herself from Rachel, and frowned at Harry.  
  
"Papa?" she asked uncertainly. "What's he talking about?"  
  
Harry closed his eyes resignedly. "I can't do this, Draco. Not right now, not with everything that's going on." He heard Nathalie come closer, felt her take his and, and he opened his eyes, bending down to pick her up. "And besides, Draco. I'm not willing to have half of you."  
  
Leaving him to work out what that cryptic remark meant, he carried Nathalie out of the hospital wing. Dumbledore and Remus were waiting for them, but he ignored them, striding past and towards the stairs that led down to the Entrance Hall.  
  
Then he remembered that he was in pyjamas.  
  
"Papa, stop," Nathalie said demandingly. "Papa, you left our cloaks, and Papa, who was that man?"  
  
"Not right now," he snapped. She cringed away from him, as much as she could whilst being carried, and he exhaled slowly, letting her back to the floor. With a whimper, she pushed herself against a nearby wall and stared at him, wide-eyed.  
  
"Nathalie, I'm sorry," he said. She said nothing. "Cherie, I didn't mean it," he tried again.  
  
"Of course you did," came a familiar voice from behind him. "Why would you have said it if you didn't mean it?"  
  
"Salazar, now is *not* the time to act like a, well, a Slytherin," Godric snapped, also behind Harry. Now the two spirits moved to stand next to Nathalie. "Nathalie, sweet, he really didn't mean it," Godric continued. "This is a hard time for your Papa, and that man..."  
  
"He was my father, wasn't he?" Nathalie whispered, looking up at the two spirits. They looked over at Harry, who stood silent, defeated. "Godric? Sal'zar? Wasn't he!?"  
  
"He was - is," Harry said slowly. "Nathalie..." He took a step towards her, and she shrieked in rage. He froze, stunned beyond belief, and felt a tear run down his cheek. "Nathalie..."  
  
"You lied to me," she accused him. "You said my other father was dead!"  
  
Harry frowned. "I never, ever said that, Nathalie," he said sharply. "I never told you that."  
  
"You may as well have done," Salazar offered unsympathetically. "She knows next to nothing about Draco Malfoy - she doesn't even know his name."  
  
"I don't need you accusing me as well!" Harry snapped. "Just stay the hell away from me and Nathalie, Salazar - you're causing enough havoc as it is. Why can't you just go back to your owl land and try to figure out a way from there to stop the Others taking over everything - or is that too good for the world for the founder of Slytherin House to do? Is that too beneficial for the world, too not self-centred for you?"  
  
Salazar stared at him, and then slowly disappeared. Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, and he yelped, moving away and wrapping his arms around himself. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Godric trying to comfort Nathalie, who was crying, but he couldn't do anything about it. He'd snapped.  
  
He heard crying, and didn't even realise that it was his until a pair of comforting arms surrounded him, and someone brushed tears from his face.  
  
"Why does the fate of the whole fucking world always land on my shoulders?" he demanded wildly. "Why?"  
  
"Because you can handle it," soothed Draco. "Because you've always been able to handle it. You're strong, Harry...stronger than any of us could ever imagine." Harry closed his eyes and rested his head on Draco's shoulder, just like he always had when they'd been together.  
  
Then he lifted his head, took a breath, and turned towards his daughter. "Nathalie, cherie," he said softly. "Come over here." Godric nodded down at Nathalie, and she slowly moved towards the two men. "Draco, this is Nathalie. Nathalie...this is your father."  
  
Nathalie sucked on the little finger of her right hand. "I know," she said calmly, her words a little muffled. "I'm not stupid, Papa." She frowned up at Draco. "So what should I call you?" she wanted to know. Harry and Draco glanced at each other.  
  
"Whatever you want," Draco said finally. Harry raised an eyebrow, but for once Nathalie didn't take advantage of such an open-ended statement.  
  
"Daddy," she decided quickly. "Daddy, can you fly?"  
  
"Not as well as I can," Harry inserted quickly. "Nathalie, go and make sure Zia Rachel is alright, would you?" Nathalie nodded and moved off a pace. Then she turned back, gave Harry a hug, then gave Draco a hug. The expression of shock on Draco's face would have been funny if Nathalie hadn't been completely sincere. A moment later, she ran back into the hospital wing, and the two men separated.  
  
"We still have to talk," Draco warned Harry, who rolled his eyes.  
  
"What do I look like, stupid?" he wanted to know. Draco opened his mouth. "No, don't even think about answering that."  
  
Someone behind them coughed, and they whirled. Remus and Dumbledore were gazing at them, with identical mixed expressions of humour and bemusement.  
  
"You do realise that you just had an argument with two people we couldn't see?" Remus queried. Harry silently nodded.  
  
"Your clothes are in the hospital wing," Dumbledore told Harry lightly. "I've arranged rooms for Nathalie and yourself - although yours may not be necessary." He nodded at all of then, then disappeared down a corridor. Harry's cheeks were burning; he looked anywhere but at Draco, and his eyes landed on the spirits of Godric and James, both of whom were smirking at him. He suppressed a retort, and instead murmured something under his breath.  
  
Draco glanced at the two ghosts who had suddenly appeared, and then looked again.  
  
"Bloody hell," he muttered, sounding a little faint. Remus followed his gaze, and almost choked.  
  
"Draco, I'd like you to meet my father," Harry said airily, fully aware of the dumbfounded expression on his ex-lover's face. "Oh, and this is Godric Gryffindor," he added carelessly. "I'd better go and find my clothes." He sauntered into the hospital wing.  
  
"Five, four, three, two, one," he murmured.  
  
"POTTER!" Harry grinned to himself. *Right on time.*  
  
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To be continued. 


	10. Nightmares of Others

Author's Notes: Nothing really to say...oh, except I know I said this chapter would be dark, but it's not dark as such...darker than the last few chapters, certainly...it gets darker, especially when ****----censored---- ****. Sorry.  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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It was the middle of the night, and Harry was writhing on his bed in the guestroom that had been prepared for them. He didn't scream - he had managed to train himself not to scream many years ago at Hogwarts - but he whimpered, and batted away invisible hands that reached for him in the darkness.  
  
The spirits of his parents watched anxiously, but they had no influence over the dreamworlds, and so could do nothing.  
  
Nathalie, in the bed near to Harry's, awoke suddenly. She stared into the darkness for a moment, then sat up and looked over at her father. She bit her lip anxiously. James moved over to her.  
  
"He's having a nightmare," he told her in a hushed voice. "Don't worry, he'll be alright." He hesitated. "Do you want me to fetch Rachel?"  
  
"No," Nathalie said in a small voice after a long moment. "No, it's okay. I'm fine." She slid out of her bed and padded across the thick carpet. "Maybe I should..."  
  
"I wouldn't try to wake him, love," Lily said quickly. "You might...you might get pulled into the dream. I don't know...maybe we should fetch Rachel."  
  
"Why not fetch Daddy?" Nathalie asked quietly, looking up at her grandmother.  
  
James and Lily exchanged meaningful glances.  
  
"I don't think Papa and Daddy are close enough for Daddy to be able to pull your Papa from his dream," James ventured after a moment. "It could be...dangerous, even more dangerous than if you tried to wake him up, Nathalie."  
  
"Something has to be done," Nathalie said resolutely. "He's hurting." She frowned at her father as smoky hands waved in and out of existence around him. Then her eyes widened fractionally. "The Others are trying to get him again," she realised. "Grandmamma..."  
  
"It's alright, love," Lily soothed. "He'll be alright." Her eyes had filled with fear, but Nathalie didn't notice.  
  
"I'm going to get Daddy," Nathalie declared then. "I...I don't know where he is." Her grandparents looked at each other again. "Will you - grandmamma, will you come with me?"  
  
"No, I will," James murmured. "I know the school better, even if we're both dead - and I know where Draco's rooms are." He held out a hand to Nathalie, and she clasped it, the spirit corporeal only to her, and they hurried from the room.  
  
Lily gazed at her son. "They won't get you," she breathed. "I swear it."  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Nathalie and James reached Draco's rooms, hidden away in one of the towers. Nathalie pulled out her new wand and tried the spell that her father had taught her: "*Alohomora*!"  
  
It didn't work, and she stamped her foot in frustration,  
  
"Knock," James said urgently. "They're getting to him." Nathalie raised her fist and banged on the door as hard as she could. It only took a moment for the door to swing open. Draco peered down at her.  
  
"Nathalie, what -" he started, but she shook her head.  
  
"Papa - he's having a nightmare - and the Others are trying to get him again, and I can't wake him up, grandmamma told me not to, and I don't know what to do!"  
  
Draco disappeared for a moment, then reappeared, a robe hastily shoved over his pyjamas. "Come on," he said quickly. "Take me to him."  
  
With Draco leading her, it took only a few minutes for them to return to Harry's guestrooms. Nathalie had forgotten to close the door, but she closed it behind her now as Draco almost flew into the bedroom to Harry's bed.  
  
James appeared next to Lily just as Nathalie sat on her own bed, the end of her black plait firmly in her mouth. They all watched anxiously as Draco tried to awaken Harry, who was now mumbling half-words that made no sense. Nathalie looked down at her hands, gripping the blanket so hard that her knuckles were white.  
  
Draco looked up at her, his face pale. "Does this happen often, Nathalie?" he demanded. She shook her head.  
  
"It's the Others," she explained. "They're trying to get him, because he -" She closed her mouth abruptly.  
  
"Because he what?" Draco said urgently. She looked at him, her eyes wide. "Nathalie, please, if it will help Harry..."  
  
"I can't say," she cried. "I can't, I promised that I wouldn't, I can't!" She buried her face in her pillow, trying to muffle out the sounds of her father's nightmare...only she knew it wasn't really a nightmare, because it was being caused by the Others - only the Others weren't allowed to do this...  
  
She lifted her head from her pillow, concentrated, and murmured the same words Harry had spoken earlier. James and Lily became visible to Draco, but he barely spared them a glance.  
  
"I think I know what to do," Nathalie announced. "Grandpapa, I'm going into the land of the spirits. When I'm there, I want you to take me to the Creators."  
  
James shook his head. "No, Nathalie, no way. You're not allowed into the land of the spirits without Harry, for one thing, and for another, the Creators wouldn't see you anyway! You may be a Necromancer, but you're also a nine year-old little girl."  
  
"And besides that, it's far too dangerous, with the Others doing what they're doing at the moment," Lily added.  
  
"But my father is going to die if I don't help him!" Nathalie flared. She looked at Draco, who was watching the exchange with an odd expression on his face. "Daddy, I have to do this."  
  
"Do what, exactly?" he demanded. James and Lily shared a glance. "Well, whatever it is, if it will help Harry..."  
  
"It might kill Nathalie, and it might not help Harry," Lily explained to him. "Are you willing to take that chance?" Draco looked down. "I thought not."  
  
"It's not your decision," Nathalie told her grandparents sternly. "You're not the ones who can help him - you *know* the Creators won't listen to you. They never listen to spirits."  
  
"The Creators aren't listening to anyone at the moment," James tried to explain to her, but she shook her head. "Can't you at least let Rachel go?"  
  
"They'll listen to me," she claimed, ignoring her grandfather's words about Rachel. She looked over at her father...at both of her parents. "I'll see you when I get back, Daddy," she said firmly. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and disappeared. James and Lily disappeared with her - the spell she had worked to make them visible only worked as long as she was there. Alone with Harry, Draco bit his lip.  
  
"You bloody bastard," he muttered. "If you don't wake up and explain things to me, I'll never forgive you."  
  
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To be continued. 


	11. The Hall of the Creators

Author's Notes: Um, this chapter might make some of you scream, so just...don't scream, alright?  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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For a moment she is suspended, then she drops to the grey earth with a small thump. She looks around, and James is standing next to her anxiously, watching her every move. The air around her is grey and thick.  
  
"It wasn't like this last time," she claims. "When Sal'zar brought me."  
  
"No," James agrees. "It was different before the Others started taking over. They're contaminating everything, Nathalie. You mustn't stay here too long. Come on - the Creators, quickly."  
  
She looks around for a moment more, then follows him through the thick air, almost choking on it, unsure where exactly he is taking her, but knowing that it is the right path.  
  
Finally James stops her, looks around, and waves a hand. The thick air swirls away from them, and Nathalie blinks up at two large pearly-white doors. James pushes her towards them. "Go on," he tells her. "I can't go in there. You have to do this alone, if you're still sure."  
  
Nathalie looks up at him. "I'm still sure," she says firmly. "Papa's in trouble. I have to help him, grandpapa." James looks down at her worriedly. "I'll be fine," she assures him. "Don't worry, grandpapa. I'll come back soon, and the Creators will sort out the Others. They'll be dust!" She grins up at him, and he manages a weak smile before pushing her towards the doors again.  
  
Resolutely, she steps up and pushes one door open. A bright light spills out, blinding her for a moment, and she cries out. When she can see again, she is standing in the middle of a large hall. Four shining beings sit on seats in front of her, staring at her with harsh, curious eyes.  
  
"She acts outside her bounds," one of them observes coolly. "Send her back, Is."  
  
"She isn't my problem," the one called Is remarks. "She is a Necromancer..." Is peers closely at Nathalie, who is beginning to feel like a zoo animal. "She is Never's problem...or yours, Was, whichever you prefer."  
  
Nathalie's head is spinning with the strange talk, and she stumbles backwards a step. "Please," she says weakly. "I need your help. My Papa..."  
  
"Your father?" One of them, the one on the far left, leans forward quickly. "I know him. He and I talk sometimes...and you...you would be Nathalie, then?" Nathalie nods. "Speak then, child. Swiftly, or else we will have to return you to where you should be."  
  
"The Others - they're trying to get him," she says shrilly. "They want to bring him to their world, they're trying to get to him through his dreams - they took his soul, before - and I can't do anything. Please, help him?"  
  
The four beings exchange swift glances. "The Others are not permitted to do that," the one called Was - the one who had spoken first - says dismissively. "She is mistaken."  
  
"I'm not, I'm not!" Nathalie screeches, stamping her foot. "Please, you have to help him! How can you be so stupid? The Others are taking over *everything*, and you're ignoring them!"  
  
The being who had said it knew her father stood up and came towards her swiftly. "You must be mistaken, child," it says. "I would know if the Others were overstepping their bounds in such a way." It pauses. "I am Never, the Creator of the Others," it explains. "So you see, I would know if they were doing what you say."  
  
"Have you even looked?" she cries. "Please, Papa is hurting, *please*."  
  
"Never, her Papa...is her Papa *him*?" Was asks, with a harsh laugh. "No wonder you are entertaining this child's...fantasies."  
  
Never whirls, glaring at Was. "If you paid half as much attention to your responsibilities as you do to my affairs, the dead would not be half so chaotic."  
  
"I thought I was Chaotic," Nathalie chimes in. The last being laughs at her softly.  
  
"True, but in a different way, little one," it explains. "Was, Never is right. Pay attention to the dead, and leave Never alone."  
  
"Ever, you cannot be thinking that this child is right?" Was demands. Ever and Is exchange glances, and Is moves to speak softly to Was. Ever joins Never in front of Nathalie, who is now sobbing.  
  
"Is she speaking the truth?" Ever murmurs to Never, who frowns, then shrugs. "Find out, Never. If *he* is being taken by the Others..."  
  
"You think I don't know that?" Never snaps. "I'll be back." It disappears, and Ever crouches, gathering Nathalie in its arms and holding her close.  
  
"Tell me about yourself, child," Ever encourages. "You live with your Papa, Harry?" Nathalie nods. "Do you have a mother?"  
  
"No," Nathalie says quietly. "I just met my Daddy - it's Papa and Daddy. And...and...and I want them to stay together, only they won't, and it's all Never's fault!" She glares at Ever, who suppresses a smile.  
  
Then Never appears again, with an agitated expression. "She's right," it admits. "The Others are restless - worse. We won't be able to do anything about it if the Necromancers don't help." It looks down at Nathalie. "Your Papa will be safe in a few moments," it soothes. "I need your help, Nathalie, can you help me?"  
  
She nods. "Of course. He's my Papa."  
  
"Take my hand," it instructs her, holding out it's hand. She clasps it, and gasps.  
  
*Don't do anything,* it warns her, speaking in her minds as they are surrounded by cloud. *Just love him.* Nathalie obeys, and after a moment feels as though she is slipping into oblivion.  
  
Then she feels someone clasp her other hand, and she cries out before she knows it is her father. The sense of oblivion fades, and they are in the pearly hall again, her father completing a triangle between herself and Never. He is gasping, and scratches cover him. He looks wildly about for a moment before sweeping Nathalie into a hug.  
  
"My cherie," he breathes. "Oh, my Nathalie." Then he lets her go, and she watches with a carefully blank face as Never holds him, murmuring things to him, brushing his hands gently over Harry's cut skin and healing him.  
  
She closes her eyes and takes a step backwards; Ever is there, and it clasps her quickly. "Ignore them," Ever whispers to her. "It is the only thing you can do. Ignore them, and keep your Papa's secret."  
  
"No," Nathalie protests. "No, no, no, no, no." Harry moves away from Never, looking at her anxiously.  
  
"Nathalie, how long have you been here?" he asks urgently.  
  
"Too long," Is speaks up from next to Was, who stills looks disgruntled. "Take her back, Necromancer, before she is damaged." Harry nods, and glances swiftly at Never.  
  
"Will you stop the Others?" he demands. "This is twice they've tried to take me - the first time they succeeded."  
  
Never looks distinctly uncomfortable. "I don't know if I can," it confesses. "They've grown...strong. Stronger than I ever meant them to be. I can't do it from here, not without you and the Necromancers."  
  
Harry's eyes flash. "Fine," he says curtly. "I will call the Necromancers to our Hall. Goodbye." He reached out to Nathalie and took her hand, and before they go, Nathalie sees that Never looks sad.  
  
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To be continued. 


	12. Consequences

Author's Notes: I'm really sorry that this chapter has taken so long. My only excuse is that it's been a really difficult chapter to write, since it explains a lot, and I...well, I don't really like explaining things.  
  
Well, I think it explains a lot. It may not, I have a skewed idea of explanations. You tell me.  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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Harry slowly opened his eyes and assessed himself. He wasn't in pain, which he realised was a good sign, but he did feel as though he'd been dragged through the barriers backwards.  
  
*Which I suppose I have been,* he mused humourlessly. He pulled himself to a sitting position.  
  
Draco and Rachel were sitting on the end of his bed, glaring at him. Harry raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Problem?" he inquired smoothly.  
  
"How about you just got pulled by the Others - again?" Rachel thundered. "Harry, you better have a damn good explanation for this - and how *exactly* did Nathalie find her way into the *spirit lands* without a *guide* - at her age, she shouldn't even know *how* to get there, and do you have *any* idea how *dangerous* it could have been for her?"  
  
Harry blinked. "I can't explain," he said calmly after a moment. "It's not...it's not mine to explain, Rachel, and even if it was, I don't owe you an explanation." His eyes flickered briefly to Draco, then to Nathalie on her bed. She sat up, and stared demandingly at him. "No, Nathalie, don't even think it."  
  
"I deserve an explanation," Draco said coolly. "I deserve to know what's happening, Harry." His eyes bored into Harry's, and the Necromancer was the first to turn away. "Who are these Others? What are the Spirit Lands? And why do those Others keep on coming after you?"  
  
"Because Papa's in -" Nathalie cut herself off quickly, and buried herself in the blankets on her bed. Harry's face was grim.  
  
"Nathalie," he said warningly. "You promised." A slight movement from beneath the bedclothes was all the answer he received. "Nathalie?"  
  
"I'm not telling," she said loudly. "I'm not!"  
  
"Not telling what?" Draco demanded, exasperated. "Will someone please explain something to me?" Harry was intent on staring at the floor, and Nathalie was still hiding in her bed, so Rachel let out a breath.  
  
"The Others are...sort of dead," she began. "They were never really alive in the first place, so they're not really dead now. They're..." She sighed. "It's complicated," she warned. "And probably goes against everything you've believed up till now."  
  
Draco's eyes were guarded as he glanced swiftly at Harry. "A lot of things I believed have been called into question recently. I think I can take more of the same."  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure," Harry muttered. Rachel shot him a glare, but he refused to look up. "These things," Harry continued. "These things are very.it's nothing that we're ever told about at school, Draco. Nothing like it is ever taught, or told, or passed on by wizards or muggles. Only the Necromancers - and some magical beasts - keep it alive now. Keep it in the world."  
  
He turned away, and didn't say anything more. Draco pursed his lips, and turned demandingly to Rachel, who anxiously glanced between her fellow Necromancers and Draco, before finally nodding.  
  
"Alright," she agreed. "I'll explain." She took a deep breath, and let it out in a rush. "The world was made by four Creators," she began quickly. "The Creator of the Living, the Creator of the Dead, the Creator of the Lands, and lastly the Creator of the Others. They look after what they created, although there are some, uh, complications, that we don't need to go into now." Draco raised a curious eyebrow, but Rachel shook her head firmly. "It's not important for what you want to know," she said emphatically. "The Others are...dammit. Maybe those complications are important after all."  
  
"The Necromancers are the same as the Others," Harry put in harshly. "We are...kindred. When we die - or as close as we get - we become Others. When they...change, although that isn't the right word, they're born into the bodies of Necromancers. We're identical to them, but complete opposites at the same time."  
  
"Only it's a little more complicated than that," Rachel said hastily on Draco's expression. "We're not...they're made of darkness, but we're born of darkness. The difference is...minute, but crucial." Harry snorted. "It means," she continued, with a glare to Harry, "that we don't fall under the jurisdiction of the Creator of the Living. We're sort of...in between the Creator of the Others and the Creator of the Dead. It's a little confusing."  
  
"I'll say," Draco exhaled. "Do these...Creators have names other than, uh the Creator of such and such?"  
  
"Is, Was, Ever and Never," Harry replied softly.  
  
"Weird names," Draco commented.  
  
"Not as weird as Sal'zar and Godric!" Nathalie yelled from beneath her blankets. Harry grinned suddenly.  
  
"No, not as weird as them," he agreed. "Cherie, are you going to come out from there?"  
  
"No!"  
  
Harry shrugged. "Your choice." He looked back at Draco. "That answer your questions?"  
  
"Some," Draco responded, a little curtly. "But not all. You still haven't told me why the Others are after you and Nathalie." Harry suddenly found something very fascinating to look at on the bedcovers. Nathalie sat up suddenly and stared hard at him. Rachel looked curiously at Harry.  
  
"I assumed it's because you're Necromancers," she said slowly. "But if that was the case...if that was why they're after you, they'd be after me, and Celeste, and Mika, and Toby, and all the others. They wouldn't just come after you...not twice, not in this time span, and certainly not when you're with two other powerful Necromancers. So. What's going on, Harry?" Harry was silent, and Rachel's eyes flashed angrily. "Harry!"  
  
"Oh, I'll tell you what's going on." Godric Gryffindor appeared between the two beds, looking furious. Harry grimaced. "Harry Potter - this Harry Potter, the one who was Sorted into *my house* at Hogwarts, has been having an affair with Never for over five years now!"  
  
Nathalie let out a shriek, and dove beneath the covers again. Draco was still staring at Harry demandingly, unaware of the spirit's presence. Rachel had gone completely white.  
  
Harry stood up, more angry than he had been since...since he had killed Voldemort.  
  
"Get out of here, Godric," he shouted. "You - you had no right whatsoever to say that. Do you have any idea the things that could happen if people know about it?"  
  
"So he's telling the truth?" Rachel breathed. "Black Gods of Death, Harry...how could you? Did you have any comprehension of the dangers - the consequences of your actions? Did he?"  
  
Harry turned on her. "Of course," he snapped. "I'm no idiot, and neither is Never. And it's not he, it's 'it', you know that."  
  
"I can't believe you're quibbling over that," Godric put in scornfully. "Harry, no matter what gender you give - it, you have been sleeping with a Creator, and that is how the Others have grown in power as they have. It is your fault."  
  
Harry suddenly seemed to shrink. "Don't you think I know that?" he demanded. "Don't you think I've been killing myself over that ever since I found out about what the Others are doing? Don't try to make me feel more guilty than I already am, Godric, because you sure as hell won't succeed."  
  
"I should think not," Rachel said forcefully. "Harry, you're a complete idiot. Did it not occur to you that perhaps the reason you've had to run so much is because you've been using so much Necro-magic to see Never that where you are is perfectly *obvious* to anyone with half a brain cell?"  
  
"Of course," Harry muttered. "Of course it did, but I..."  
  
"But you couldn't do without Never, and he wouldn't do without you," Godric said cuttingly.  
  
"Go away!" Harry snapped, lifting his hand, palm towards the spirit. "Go away, Godric." With a startled look, the spirit disappeared promptly. He turned to Rachel. "Rachel..."  
  
She held up a hand. "No, Harry. I can't talk to you about this." She looked grim, and Harry's eyes widened fractionally as he realised what she was about to say. She took a breath. "I'm calling a hearing of the Necromancers," she informed him. "In the Hall. Two days."  
  
"Rachel..."  
  
"No, Harry," Rachel snapped. "I can't talk to you until then." She rose, and stalked from the room. Nathalie extricated herself from her blankets and padded over to sit next to Harry, watching him anxiously.  
  
"Papa...Papa, it won't be so bad," she comforted him. "They don't know anything 'bout you and Never."  
  
"They will," Harry moaned. "Oh, they will, they will. Oh, what have I done, cherie?" Nathalie sucked her finger worriedly, then curled up in his lap, one arm entwined in his, trying to comfort him. Tears slid done his face.  
  
Draco, still sitting on the end of the bed, blinked several times. "Would anyone mind telling me just exactly what happened?" he inquired.  
  
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To be continued. 


	13. Angry Situations

Author's Notes: I repeat, I can't tell you anything about Draco and Harry! You'll have to wait and read. However, expect a *huge* confrontation fairly soon. Thanks again for all the reviews.  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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Nathalie was sitting sullenly on a box when Draco found her. She was swinging her feet so that her heels smacked against the box thud-thud. She had an air of restrained anger about her that made Draco shiver unconsciously - she was very like Harry. He'd felt like that a lot before he'd...  
  
"What are you doing up here?" he forced himself to ask, feigning an air of casualness that he didn't feel. "Students aren't allowed up here, you know."  
  
She shrugged. "I'm not a student - I'm never going to be - so that's alright."  
  
He joined her on the box. "I'm sorry if we scared you off, Nathalie."  
  
She gave another not-quite-nonchalant shrug. "S'okay. Papa has arguments with people all the time about him and Never. Well, not all the time. Most people don't know about it." She put her head on one side like a bird, considering. "Actually, only me and you and Rachel and Godric and Sal'zar know about it," she conceded. "Though I think grandmamma might know too - she's smart. And maybe Rowena - she's smartest of anyone I know. 'Cept maybe Papa. "  
  
A small smile tugged reluctantly at Draco's mouth for a moment. "Still, I'm sorry. I want you to know me, not get scared of me arguing with your Papa."  
  
She turned her grey eyes to him with a practiced air of innocence. "Papa said that's why he left. Because you two argued. Because he's a Necromancer."  
  
Draco shivered again. Nathalie wasn't just like Harry - she was like him also. "That's part of it," he agreed neutrally. "But you'd better ask him about that."  
  
"He won't talk to me about it," she brushed the comment aside. "He says I'm too young to understand. But I'm not. Not really. I've seen things that most adults would run from."  
  
"You're still only nine years old," Draco reminded her. "Maybe your Papa is right...you probably wouldn't understand why we broke up."  
  
"I would so," she pouted, and he suppressed a smile. "I'm nearly ten years old, I'm not a baby!"  
  
"Nathalie." For a moment he was lost for words. "I know you're not. But...but I don't even really understand why we broke up. It was...it was a lot of reasons."  
  
"Well, if you tell me what the reasons are, I'll help you understand!" Nathalie pointed out triumphantly, the pout replaced with a wide grin. Draco chuckled, knowing he was defeated.  
  
"Alright, little bit, I'll try to tell you. I can't promise anything," he warned. He sighed, and leant back against the wall. "Well...part of it was because he's a Necromancer. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you about the prejudices there are against the Necromancers - and I...I believed their lies to be truth. Harry...he hadn't told me what he was, I found his ring in a drawer one day." He glanced down almost automatically at Nathalie's hands, balancing her on the edge of the box, and he was surprised that no silver skull could be seen.  
  
"I don't have one yet," she explained, seeing where he was looking. "We get them when we come-of-age. That's when we're fifteen. Only Papa got his when he found out that he was a Necromancer, 'coz he was seventeen then."  
  
"Right," Draco muttered. "Anyway, I got angry at him. We both said things we shouldn't have. We never worked it out. That's about it."  
  
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't fill her head with nonsense." Nathalie and Draco both looked up to the end of the hall, where Harry stood, framed in the light. He wore his cloak, which Nathalie knew was not a good sign. "Nathalie, please go and fetch your cloak," Harry continued. "Meet me in the entrance hall - you remember how to get there?"  
  
Nathalie silently nodded, slipped off the box, and disappeared past Harry without a backwards glance at Draco, who was watching Harry with some strange emotion in his eyes.  
  
"We're leaving," Harry said curtly. "It's not safe for us here anymore, even with the barriers. The Others will try for me again, and I can't trust in Dumbledore's protection."  
  
"I won't let you take her away from me, not again," Draco told him crisply. "She deserves to know me, and I want to know her."  
  
"You know nothing about her, or what she needs," Harry snapped. "You can't say that you can protect her. The only way she'll be safe is if we keep on running." He paused. "And besides, you get both of us or neither of us. And I can scarcely think that you'd want anything to do with me, now."  
  
Draco stared long and hard at his ex-lover. "I just want to know two things," he said finally. "Did you ever love me, and do you love Never?"  
  
Harry flinched, and looked away for a moment. He wasn't able to speak; he didn't have answers for Draco anyway. Not any answers that Draco would care to hear. Then he took a deep breath, and met Draco's grey eyes again.  
  
"I loved you - I still love you," he admitted in a low voice. "I've never stopped." Draco blanched. "But I...Never and I...it's not love, because he's incapable of human emotion as we see it. But it's...it's the equivalent."  
  
A long, tense moment of silence. Then:  
  
"That's all I needed to know," Draco said tautly. "Goodbye, Potter."  
  
He rose, and walked down to the other end of the hallway, then slipped through the door. Harry watched him go sadly.  
  
"Goodbye, Malfoy." His whisper was absorbed into the stone walls around him. Then he turned and stalked through the halls to the entrance hall, thankful that there was no-one around to see the strange glistening of his eyes.  
  
Nathalie was waiting for him, her hood pulled up so that he couldn't see her face and the cross, sullen expression he knew she was wearing. He looked at her for a moment, then pulled his own hood up.  
  
"We'll walk to Hogsmeade, then Apparate," he told her after a moment. "I don't know where we're going - out of England, certainly - so don't ask, please."  
  
"What did Daddy say?" she wanted to know, her voice muted. Harry could have cursed himself; she had been crying.  
  
"It doesn't matter," he told her quickly. "Come along, cherie. We have to go."  
  
He moved to the heavy oak door, and pulled it open.  
  
Three Aurors were walking up the steps; they saw him, and cried out. Harry unfroze and slammed the door; pressing himself against it, he looked at Nathalie.  
  
"Aurors," he said swiftly. "We'll have to go the back way."  
  
"No time, I'm afraid." Dumbledore had joined them. "I've been owled; Aurors have surrounded the school, they know you're here."  
  
"They don't know all the secret passages," Harry reminded him. "We can get out through one of those. The one into Honeydukes."  
  
"Where then?" Dumbledore asked gently. "How long are you intending to run, Harry?" Harry was torn; he glanced at his daughter, who was standing next to him, looking for a moment very fragile.  
  
"Come to Malfoy Manor," Draco said from the staircase. Harry looked up wildly. "The wards there were created to hide Dark magic, like Necromancy. You'd be safe there for weeks, if not longer."  
  
There was banging on the door. Nathalie's hood fell back; she was gazing intently at her father.  
  
"Please, Papa," she said softly. "I don't want to run anymore."  
  
Harry closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were steely with resolve. "Fine," he snapped. "Malfoy Manor." He nodded at Dumbledore, then, with a hand on Nathalie's shoulder, he followed Draco through the school to the old statue of the witch. Draco pulled out his wand and muttered the password; they slipped in, and left Hogwarts.  
  
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To be continued. 


	14. Malfoy Manor

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed...special thanks to T.K. Yuy, who knows why. You're an angel, I swear.  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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The three managed to slip out of Honeydukes without being noticed, thanks to an invisibility spell, and, with Nathalie firmly gripping Harry's hand, they Apparated to the edge of the Apparition wards on Malfoy Manor.  
  
"It's only five minutes walk," Draco explained, glancing around the wooded area they were in. "Through here - come on."  
  
Harry didn't answer, but he let go of Nathalie and allowed her to run on ahead as they left the wood and crossed the lawn in front of the large, imposing Manor. The windows gaped down at them, and Harry tore his eyes away from it with difficulty to watch Nathalie circle a small pool with interest.  
  
"Careful, cherie," he called out. She sent him a withering look, and he smothered a small smile.  
  
"You overprotect her," Draco commented, trying to sound neutral but not quite succeeding. Harry shot him a fiery look.  
  
"It's better than not protecting her," he replied evenly. "We have to be careful, with what we are. I won't see her in their hands...there's no knowing what they'd do to her."  
  
"Well, they won't find her here," Draco said firmly. "Lucius put so many wards around this place it's harder to find than Hogwarts." He looked away from Harry, away from his daughter, and entered his home. A moment later, Harry called to Nathalie, and they followed him in.  
  
Harry had been to Malfoy Manor twice before. Once when he had been captured by Death Eaters in his sixth year, and once during the year after he had left Hogwarts, when he'd stayed with Draco, just before he'd found out who he was. Both times, the Manor had been dark and forbidding...just like Lucius Malfoy.  
  
The light, airy rooms he saw now were a complete shock. He blinked several times.  
  
"I redecorated," Draco told him, seeing the surprise. "I didn't want anything to remind me of Lucius."  
  
Harry nodded slowly. *Makes sense. Especially after...* "Draco...thank you. For this. We appreciate it."  
  
Draco slowly turned, gazing at Harry with a slightly curious expression. 'Did you think I'd just let the Aurors get you?"  
  
Harry shrugged. He didn't want to really think about that. "You would have nine years ago."  
  
Draco stiffened. "You know your way around," he said tautly after a moment. "I wouldn't advise going outside, but of course you'll do as you want, just like always. You can have whichever of the guest rooms you want." He disappeared through a door, and Nathalie looked up from her inspection of the room.  
  
"Where'd Daddy go?" she demanded. "I wanted to ask him something."  
  
Harry grimaced. "I don't know, Nathalie. Why don't you go and find him? You're more likely to get a civil word out of him than I am." He stalked to the other end of the room and slammed the door behind him.  
  
Nathalie frowned. "Stupid men," she muttered, and started to explore the house. Several hours later, she had found her way into one of the dustier attics, and was digging around in a large trunk of what seemed to be forgotten clothes.  
  
"Junk...junk...junk...ooh, picture! No, junk...junk...hmm." She lifted out a small wooden box. "I wonder what this is?"  
  
Sitting in a pile of dust that was making her nose itch, she pushed her plaits back and pried off the lid of the box. More dust flew up into her face, and she choked for a moment, coughing. When she could finally breathe again, she peeked into the box.  
  
"Wow," she murmured. "Pretty." She glanced up as she heard a bang from somewhere below her, and raised voices. Tugging on the gold loop that adorned her right ear, she debated whether or not it would be a good idea to go down and interrupt her fathers' argument.  
  
*Perhaps not,* she decided after hearing her Daddy yell something particularly insulting to her Papa. *I'm not really in the mood to get killed. Or maimed. Or blown up.*  
  
She inspected the contents of the box again, and withdrew a scrap of parchment. *I wonder what this is?*  
  
There was another, louder crash from below her. Nathalie frowned. This, she decided, was not good. She stood up, brushing dust from her clothes, and left the attic, clattering down the stairs noisily, then looking for her fathers.  
  
It wasn't hard; she followed the shouting to a large library on the first floor. Two large wooden doors barred her way. She pushed at one of them, and it slowly swung open.  
  
Harry and Draco were standing in the middle of the library, shrieking insults at each other just as they had earlier, when Harry had reluctantly told Draco about Never. Several mirrors on the walls had cracked, as had a couple of windows, and at least a dozen books had been ripped apart.  
  
From what Nathalie could tell, it wasn't all the fault of her Papa.  
  
"Well, if you're in such great danger, I don't see why your mystical lover can't protect you," Draco flung at Harry. "You certainly don't seem to need my help!"  
  
"You understand nothing about Never and the Others!" Harry thundered. "Don't presume to make assumptions about them!"  
  
"Well, I wouldn't have to make assumptions if you would talk to me about what's going on!" Draco snapped. "This affects Nathalie, and in case you haven't noticed, she's my daughter too!"  
  
Harry was shaking with rage; another window smashed. "Really? I could hardly tell," he commented, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "I mean, you certainly haven't been a father to her up till now. She barely even knows your name."  
  
"Through no fault of mine," Draco retorted. "I barely even knew she existed before you turned up at Hogwarts, messing up my life again - and I certainly didn't know that she was *my* daughter, and that's your fault, Potter. You kept her from me - and I don't intend to let you do that again."  
  
Nathalie decided that perhaps it was time to make her presence known.  
  
"Hello," she said loudly. "I found this." She held up the box. "What is it?" The two men instantly turned to her, identical guilty expressions on their faces. She lifted the box a little more. "Papa? Daddy? What is it?"  
  
Harry closed his eyes and turned away. He couldn't look at her, not after the things he'd just said to Draco...to her father. He couldn't bring himself to mar in any way her innocence...and he knew he would. It was the only thing he felt capable of doing anymore.  
  
"Let me have a look, little bit," Draco said gently, taking the box from Nathalie. He looked into it, moving aside the parchment, and his eyes widened. "Oh. Where...where did you find this, little bit?"  
  
Nathalie shrugged. "An attic. Should I not have been in there?"  
  
Draco spared a swift glance at Harry, who was standing in the middle of the room, slightly hunched over, still facing away from them.  
  
"No, it's alright," he said slowly. "You can go anywhere in the Manor that you want to, as long as you're careful. I'll...I'll tell you about these things in a while, okay? I just need to talk to your Papa for a moment."  
  
Nathalie raised one eyebrow in an expression that was eerily reminiscent of Draco himself. "You weren't talking. You were fighting." A smile tugged at Draco's mouth, albeit reluctantly.  
  
"We won't fight anymore," he promised. "Why don't you go down to the kitchen and see if the house elves are making lunch? I'm sure they have some ice cream or something somewhere around down there."  
  
Nathalie's eyes lit up, and with an excited squeak she bounded out of the library, intent on finding the promised ice cream, the argument forgotten. Draco slowly turned back to Harry.  
  
"She gets.she gets so excited over ice cream," Harry choked out. "She...we haven't been able to...it's been too risky...and I promised myself that I'd give her a better childhood than I had...than you had...I'm a terrible father, I'm too wrapped up in myself and Never.and she hates it. She hates it all, she hates moving, she hates Never, she hates me, sometimes. And I...I can't stand it. I can't stand waking up everyday knowing that she might be taken away from me if I let her make friends, let her eat ice cream, let her play in the park. I haven't been able to let her know you, because I was too scared that you would destroy us." He shrugged a little. "I...I was wrong. I was so, so wrong...I couldn't have been more wrong...but I was so scared, Draco. I still am. I'm afraid for Nathalie. She has to grow up with this darkness in her, and I can't do anything to stop that. Her innocence will be corrupted, and it will all be my fault."  
  
Draco sighed, stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around Harry again, comforting him. "Of course you were," he murmured. "Anyone would be. You can't expect yourself to be brave all the time, Harry."  
  
"If I'm not, who will be?"  
  
Draco closed his eyes in resignation. Harry had always been like this. He was always such a perfect Gryffindor. He wouldn't let people in until he was sure they were trustworthy - *Am I still trustworthy, after the things I said?*- and he would never allow himself to show - or even feel - fear.  
  
Harry stirred in his arms. "I'm being a complete bastard to you, Draco," he whispered. "Why are you putting up with me?"  
  
Draco put his head on one side, and considered. "I think," he began slowly, "it's because I still love you, Harry. Despite everything. Despite the fights, and the angry words, I still love you. And because...because I know there's something going on with you that you can't tell anyone yet, and I need to be there for you when you *can* talk about it."  
  
Harry managed a weak chuckle. "Smart-ass Slytherin."  
  
"Brain-dead Gryffindor," Draco replied automatically, with more than a little fondness. Then he exhaled. "Harry..."  
  
He didn't have a chance to finish what he was going to say, because there was a blast of energy that pulled him away from Harry and shoved him against the door. He grimaced with pain. Harry stumbled backwards a few paces with the backlash of the energy. When the blinding light, that had filled the room with the energy, finally dissipated, a being was standing in front of Harry protectively, and Harry looked more furious than he ever was with Draco.  
  
"Never, what the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.  
  
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To be continued. 


	15. Never Kisses

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Some of you may be a little disappointed with this chapter...don't be. There'll be more of it later. Also, some people have been complaining that the chapters are too short. Let me put it like this: either you get short chapters, or you get nothing for several days. I prefer shorter chapters, since that way I get to leave you all with evil cliffhangers. Of course, everyone is entitled to their opinions.  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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Draco stared in disbelief. "*This* is Never?" he demanded. The being gazed at him with contempt. "Harry, what the hell is going on?"  
  
Harry was watching his lover with anger riddled with curiosity. "That's actually what I wanted to know. Never, you'd better have a damn good explanation for this - you do realise that if you stay here too long, even the wards around the Manor won't be able to hide Nathalie and I?"  
  
Never was seething, but he didn't answer. Harry shook his head. "Never, I'll see you in two days. Until then, you shouldn't be talking to me. The hearing, remember?"  
  
Never sighed, and looked at his lover. "I know that," it agreed. "But I had to see you, Harry. Not just because of the hearing - there's the Others also."  
  
Harry frowned slightly. "I'd almost forgotten about them. Well, you know I can't do anything about it until after the hearing, if they decide they'll leave me alone about it. After that.well, we'll all be in one place, so I guess we'll be able to start doing something - that's if something can be done about it. You may have ignored them for too long to repair the damage they've done." He fell silent suddenly, remembering something that the Others had said to him.  
  
Draco pulled himself to his feet. "I don't suppose either of you have remembered," he began waspishly, "but this happens to be my home, and I don't appreciate either of you putting my daughter into danger in the way you are."  
  
Never whirled around, eyes blazing, and Draco was slammed against the door again. "Quiet, mortal," Never ordered. "Stay out of this, it is not your affair."  
  
Harry winced. "Never, I wouldn't..."  
  
"Of course it is," Draco snapped. "I care for Nathalie and Harry both, and from what I understand, you're endangering both of them just by being here."  
  
Never's eyes flashed. "Why not just speak plainly?" it retorted. "You're jealous."  
  
Draco sneered. "At least I have the guts to admit it, unlike you - or was it just a coincidence that you arrived just when you did?"  
  
The doors at his back exploded, and he stumbled to the ground from the force of the explosion. When he looked up at Never and Harry, he wasn't sure which of them had ruined the doors. Whilst Never looked as coldly furious as any jealous lover, Harry was livid, and he moved to help Draco stand, ignoring the Creator.  
  
"Are you alright?" he demanded. Draco silently nodded, and Harry turned back to Never. "Never, please. Don't do this. Not now." He moved closer to his lover, and murmured something that Draco couldn't hear. Never didn't look appeased. "You know I wouldn't do anything," Harry tried again, speaking gently, almost as if Never was a child that needed reassurance. "You *know* that."  
  
"I do," Never muttered. "I trust *you*. I don't trust him, however." It's eyes raised to meet Draco's for a moment, then it looked back at Harry.  
  
"Fine, don't trust him," Harry said, exasperated. "But you're acting like a jealous child."  
  
Never stiffened, insulted. "Fine, then," he snapped. "I'll leave." A moment later, he was gone. Harry clenched his fists, fighting the rising anger in him. He spotted a vase perched on a table -as yet unbroken by the first his fight with Draco, and then Never's swift entrance and exit. He lunged at it, and threw it hard against the wall.  
  
It smashed, and Harry blinked as he calmed down. "Please tell me that wasn't an antique?"  
  
Draco managed a weak laugh. "Birthday present from my great-aunt. I've been looking for an excuse to get rid of it." He moved closer to Harry. "Harry...that was Never?"  
  
"Yeah." Harry turned, and shrugged awkwardly at Draco. "Sorry. Never can get a bit..."  
  
"Possessive?" Draco suggested lightly, pulling out his wand and pointing it at the door. "*Reparo!*"  
  
"Jealous," Harry added with a sigh. "It's...it's not Never's fault. The Creators...since everything is theirs for the asking, sort of, it's hard for Never to accept that I'm not just going to ignore everyone else in favour of it, like it does for me."  
  
"Isn't that a good thing?" Draco ventured. "I mean, the reason the Others are doing...whatever it is they're doing is because Never's been ignoring everything but you, right? So if you only paid attention to Never, wouldn't things get even worse?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "Probably." He shrugged again. "Things with Never and I.we're just getting so complicated. I mean, more complicated than hey were before, when it was just that it's a Creator. It's...I dunno. I'm not sure what I want anymore." He shot a look at Draco, who was thoughtfully gazing at him. *I'm not sure who I want anymore, more like. But there's no way I can tell Draco that.*  
  
Draco nodded slowly. "Right." Then he changed the subject. "Come on, let's go and find Nathalie. I have one or two rather eager house elves that may spoil Nathalie beyond all belief." Harry smiled and began to walk out of the now-mended doors. Something on the ground caught his eye, and he slowly bent to pick up the small box Nathalie had brought down from the attic.  
  
"Draco," he breathed. "Is this...you kept this?"  
  
Draco had frozen, but now he nodded. "Yes. I...I couldn't let it go. I put it in the attic. I wonder how on earth Nathalie found it...it must have been buried up there with the rest of your -" He cut himself off, a telltale blush creeping onto his face.  
  
Harry rose. "You kept my things?" he wanted to know, trying to stop his voice shaking but not quite succeeding. "You...but why?"  
  
Draco shrugged awkwardly. "People do crazy things when they're in love."  
  
"Tell me, Draco, am I crazy?" A moment later, he kissed Draco soundly, his hands gripping the other man's shoulders firmly.  
  
It took a few moments for what was happening to register with Draco; when it did, he pulled away, breathing heavily.  
  
"Definitely crazy," he said tautly. "Harry, you're with Never." Harry's face closed up, and he moved away from Draco.  
  
"Right," he agreed dully. "I'm with Never." He placed the box on a table nearby, then silently left the room.  
  
Draco closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then picked up another vase full of flowers and threw it at the wall.  
  
"Fuck," he swore loudly. "Idiot!"  
  
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To be continued. 


	16. Lessons for Necromancers

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews, although I have to say Never isn't quite as evil as you all are making him out to be.  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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In the two days that followed, Harry managed to get away with barely speaking to Draco. He ate meals at different times, made sure he was always in a different room, and did his best to keep Nathalie from seeing him.  
  
Nathalie firmly refused to ignore Draco, and acted as a go-between between them for a while, before declaring that they ought to sort it out themselves. She befriended some of the house elves, and spent the larger part of the two days in the kitchen, eating as much ice cream and as many sweet things as she could. Harry, when he found out about this, halfway through the second day, wasn't pleased, and promptly took her to the downstairs parlour for a lesson.  
  
"There's no way I'm letting you just eat sweets all the time," he told her firmly. "And you haven't had a lesson in days and days, what with one thing or another."  
  
"You mean with the Others, and with you and Daddy arguing," she pulled a face. "Papa, I have a stomach ache."  
  
He raised one eyebrow. "Now you know why it's bad to eat so much ice cream," he chastised her gently. "You'll be alright in a while; if it still hurts in half an hour, we'll stop, alright?" Pouting - she'd hoped to get out of the lesson - Nathalie nodded, and sat down in an armchair. "Oh, don't look so annoyed, cherie. Not necromancy today. It's time for you to really start using that wand...and to learn about everything that goes with it."  
  
Nathalie's smile would have lit up the room if it hadn't been daylight. "Really, Papa? I'm going to learn how to shrink things, and blow things up, and curse people?"  
  
Harry laughed. "Yes, cherie. Not all at once though," he warned. "It's hard work, and we have to go slowly, to make sure you understand everything." She nodded impatiently - of course, she knew all that, she just wanted to begin - and pulled her wand from her pocket. It was sticky - the result of clutching it after eating chocolate chip cookies and ice cream - and Harry raised an eyebrow quizzically at her. She pouted again.  
  
"Give it here," he sighed. She dutifully handed it over, and he muttered a cleaning charm. "Try to keep it a little, uh, cleaner?"  
  
"Yes, Papa," she murmured easily, her fingers crossed behind her back. "Can we start now?"  
  
"Yes," Harry smiled. "We can start. Something simple, but useful. Wingardium leviosa."  
  
"Uh...huh?" Nathalie scrunched up her nose. Harry smiled at her.  
  
"Levitation charm," he explained. "Lifts things into the air; floats them, really. You need to do the right wrist movements though, so watch carefully." He pulled off his silver ring, and set it on the coffee table in front of him. "*Wingardium leviosa!*" The ring lifted into the air, and with a swish of his wand he directed it into Nathalie's outstretched hand. "See?"  
  
"Yep," Nathalie nodded, holding up her wand in her right hand and the silver skull in her left. "Wingardium lev-"  
  
"No, Nathalie," Harry said hastily. "Don't hold the ring in your hand, not on your first try. Put it on the table. I can fix *that* if you blow it up, but I wouldn't be able to fix your hand." Flushing, Nathalie dropped the ring onto the table quickly. She raised her wand again.  
  
"*Wingardium leviosa*," she said firmly, moving her wand as she'd watched her father move his. The ring gave the smallest of shivers, and she frowned. "*Wingardium leviosa*!" she repeated loudly. The ring lifted an inch, then dropped. Nathalie looked up at her father in confusion. "I've been able to do all the *other* spells," she said mournfully.  
  
"The other ones were easier," Harry shrugged. "And at least you didn't burn your eyebrows off." Nathalie squeaked, dropped her wand, and covered her eyebrows with her hands. "Calm down, cherie, it's not likely to happen to you." Slowly she lowered her hands, then picked up her wand. "Ready to try again?"  
  
"Okay," she exhaled. "*Wingardium leviosa*!" Slowly, as if it wasn't really sure it should be levitating, the silver ring rose into the air until it was about level with Nathalie's eyes. She was so excited that she forget to concentrate. The silver ring thudded back to the table. "I did it, I did it! Papa, did you see, I did it!"  
  
Harry retrieved his ring and slid it back onto his finger. "Yes, cherie, I saw. Well done. But calm down, alright?" He was clearly amused, but he was still teaching her, so she slumped back in the armchair. "Good girl. Name a Dark creature."  
  
"Uh, werewolf?" she tried. Harry raised an eyebrow. *Too easy,* he thought dismissively. *But...it's been a long couple of days. I'll allow it.*  
  
"How is a person made into a werewolf?" he inquired quietly, leaning back in his chair.  
  
"A bite from a werewolf when they're in wolf form," Nathalie replied promptly. "Or if one of your parents is a werewolf, because it's a here - hereditry disease."  
  
"Hereditary," Harry corrected. "Good. How can we defend ourselves against werewolves on full moons?"  
  
"Um...they can't touch silver," Nathalie said slowly. "And, um..." She floundered for a moment more. "I dunno."  
  
"You're right, they can't touch silver, they're allergic to it all the time," Harry agreed encouragingly. "On a full moon, the only real protection is to stay far away. But there is a potion that keeps their minds human during the change, remember?" She nodded. "And what's the cure?"  
  
"Death," she replied. "Only that's not really a cure, is it, Papa?"  
  
"No, it isn't," Harry said slowly. "Death isn't a cure for anything." He shook himself. "That was really too easy for you, Nathalie - I *know* grandpapa has told you about werewolves because of Moony."  
  
Nathalie tried, and failed, to look innocent, which Harry knew to mean that she wasn't really trying to deny it. "No, Papa," she protested. "Of course he didn't - who's Moony?"  
  
"Don't play innocent, cherie," he smirked. "Come on, we're still having a lesson." She nodded, and bit down a smile. "Okay. Name a potion and its uses."  
  
Nathalie began swinging her feet a bit. "Um, Polyjuice Potion," she ventured. "Changes your appearance for an hour. Um, people use it to pretend to be other people, like when they're spying, or when they want to find out things. Also it can be very useful for sneaking into other people's dormitories."  
  
Harry's eyebrows shot up. There was a low, appreciative chuckle from the doorway, where Draco had stood unnoticed for several minutes, and Harry and Nathalie both looked up, startled.  
  
"Well done, little bit," Draco said approvingly. "I bet Harry had forgotten about that. It was me he was checking up on, did you know?"  
  
"Really?" Nathalie was sceptical; she twirled the end of her plait around her fingers as she looked back at Harry. "Papa, were you?"  
  
"Yes," Harry said simply, leaning back. "Lesson over, Nathalie. Go and eat some lunch, and don't forget that we're leaving tonight for the Hall." Nathalie frowned at both of her parents, then slid from the armchair, pressed a kiss to Harry's cheek, and slipped past Draco.  
  
Harry didn't move, his eyes fixed on the coffee table, although he wasn't really seeing it. After a long moment, he put away his wand, raised his eyes to greet Draco, and tugged thoughtfully on one of the two silver earrings in his left ear.  
  
"I'd better go." His voice sounded toneless even to him. "My hearing is tonight, and I ought to make some preparations." He rose, and made to move past Draco, but the wizard stopped him with a hand on his arm.  
  
"Harry...can I help?"  
  
Harry met Draco's eyes carefully. "I don't know. Can you?" Draco smiled slightly, and kissed Harry chastely on the lips.  
  
"Yes," he confirmed softly. "I can help you...if you want me to." He moved away down the hall, and disappeared through a door, leaving Harry oddly thoughtful.  
  
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To be continued. 


	17. The Hearing

Author's Notes: This is a long chapter, but you're not to get your hopes up, it won't be this long every chapter.  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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Darkness fell. Harry and Nathalie donned their cloaks, fastening the silver skull fastenings. Her hair had been neatly brushed and re-plaited into two plaits. She wore her special earrings, silver skulls, and a dark dress instead of her usual, more practical, trousers. Harry had made an effort to flatten his hair, and he too wore dark clothes.  
  
They paused by the great front door of the Manor, and Harry smoothed an errant strand of Nathalie's hair behind her ear.  
  
"Be good, cherie," he warned her. "You won't like what happens in the Hall." He was pale, but so was she, and she nodded resolutely. Harry's mouth twisted - for a moment he was going to smile - but then his fear caught up with him, and he became grave again. "Don't be afraid," he told her. "Nothing will happen to you."  
  
"But will something happen to you, Papa?" she asked quietly. His guilty face betrayed him, but he said nothing. "Papa..."  
  
"I'll be fine, Nathalie," he assured her. "And we don't have a choice, remember?" His eyes lifted. Draco was standing at the top of the stairs, watching them with a carefully neutral expression. "Hold on a moment, cherie." He moved closer to Draco, standing a few steps up.  
  
"When will - will you be coming back?" Draco asked quietly.  
  
"That's two questions," Harry accused softly. "Which do you want an answer to, Draco?"  
  
Draco shrugged. "Either. Both. You decide."  
  
"The hearing will last several hours, I think."  
  
"I see." Draco's eyes flickered for a moment, then he descended the stairs until he was on the step above Harry. "Here." He pressed something into Harry's hand, then disappeared up the stairs again. Harry looked down at the small, metal object, and managed a dry chuckle.  
  
*At least I know that Draco still has a sense of humour.* He slid the ring onto its old finger. It felt a little odd, after nine years, but familiarly comfortable at the same time. Then he turned back to the front door, where Nathalie was patiently waiting.  
  
"Come on, cherie," he said, feeling a little less afraid. "Let's go."  
  
They slipped out of the Manor. The night was cool, and in their cloaks they might as well have been shadows. They made for the small family graveyard that lay on the other side of the wood. It was from there that they would be able to reach the Hall. It didn't take long to get there. Nathalie kept close to Harry; although she had spent too long in darkness and shadows to be scared of the walk through the wood, a hand kept on drifting over her head, a hand that she couldn't see.  
  
She knew that meant it had to be the Others, but she didn't want to worry Harry with it.  
  
They entered the graveyard. The spirits of Malfoys glared at them accusingly, but the Necromancers ignored them. They walked swiftly to the centre of the graveyard.  
  
"Hold my hands, Nathalie," Harry instructed. She took his hands, taking the opportunity to covertly examine his new ring. "Concentrate. Remember what the Hall is. What we are."  
  
Nathalie closed her eyes and obeyed. Harry, after making sure she was doing what he had said, closed his eyes and opened his mind. The swirling currents of death and necromancy whirled around them, and they were caught up in it, separated but for their firmly clasped hands. Then they landed, and opened their eyes. They were in the Hall of the Necromancers. Nathalie let go of her father's hands, and they looked around themselves.  
  
The Hall was huge, even larger than the Hall of the Creators, although it was built out of a dark stone that created shadows. It stretched up almost higher than the eye could see, and it was as long as several Quidditch pitches.  
  
Unfortunately, Harry and Nathalie had landed at the wrong end of the Hall. They could see the other Necromancers, dressed as they themselves were, gathered together at the other end of the Hall. With a sigh, Nathalie doggedly began walking. Harry quickly caught up with her, swept her up into his arms, and carried her down to the other Necromancers.  
  
"You're late," snapped one of the Necromancers, a tall black man who wore his hood up. Harry glared at him.  
  
"Some of us, Marc, have other concerns," he retorted. "You do know what the Others are doing?"  
  
"Of course we do," said the woman called Robyn softly. "That is among your charges also." Harry's eyes glittered dangerously, but he nodded. Another of the women, Jessica, turned away, and with a flick of her wand a table and chairs appeared. Nine chairs on one side, and a tenth chair facing them.  
  
"Sit down, everyone," she invited. The Necromancers did so, and Harry unwillingly sat down facing them. Nathalie hovered beside him.  
  
"Nathalie, take your place with us," Rachel ordered. Nathalie glared.  
  
"No," she said firmly. "I'm with my Papa." The Necromancers looked grim.  
  
"You can hardly expect otherwise," Harry tried to appease them. "She's only nine. Not even old enough to sit in on a hearing."  
  
"Then you should have left her behind," Marc snapped.  
  
"Silence," thundered one of the men, Mika. "This is not about petty squabbles. We are here to listen to the charges against Harry." He glared around at his fellows. "And we *will* hear the charges," he continued. "Rachel, as the accuser, you have the right to read them."  
  
Rachel, seated near the middle, picked up the piece of parchment. "Harry Potter," she read, "Necromancer and wizard, member of the Order of the Phoenix, Order of Merlin first class." Harry flinched. He knew that when a Necromancer's full titles were read out, it spelled bad news. "You are charged with gross negligence of your duties as a Necromancer; with conducting a sexual relationship with a Creator - specifically, with the Creator of the Others. You are also charged with distracting the Creator of the Others, to the effect that those beings called the Others have been allowed to evolve beyond their natural and fitting state and are now threatening all lands." She lowered the parchment, her eyes fixed coolly on Harry. "What say you to these charges?"  
  
Harry took a breath, and began to speak. He was stopped by a flash of light in front of him. He blinked several times; Nathalie leant into him, a little scared. The Necromancers all looked a little confused.  
  
Then the light vanished, leaving four shining beings in its place. The Creators.  
  
Harry groaned.  
  
Several of the Necromancers rose. One of them, a tanned woman called Celeste who looked as though she'd prefer to be asleep than conducting a trial against Harry, frowned, confused.  
  
"Honoured Ones," she said uncertainly. "May I - "  
  
The Creator of the Living, Is, stepped forward. "We are here to oversee this trial," it said calmly. "It concerns us, and it is our right."  
  
"You have the right," Celeste agreed, sitting down again. She tugged Mika down as well. Chairs came into existence at either end of the table; Harry watched with barely concealed distaste as Was lead Is to his right, and Never took Ever to the chairs on his left.  
  
Then Rachel repeated her question: "What say you, Harry?"  
  
Nathalie put an arm around Harry as he again took a breath. "Guilty," he muttered. "I'm guilty as charged." His eyes flicked to Never for a long moment, then back to the accusing Necromancers, who were all silent. "Well? I've admitted it, what more do you want?"  
  
"We wants your reasoning for this," spoke a small man from the end of the table. "You must surely have known the consequences of your actions." He, too, glanced at Never. "Both of you must have."  
  
"It is not on trial," Harry said warningly. "I am."  
  
"Yes, you're on trial," snapped Marc. "Don't try to threaten us, Harry."  
  
"Don't yell at my Papa!" Nathalie stomped her foot. "Aren't you supposed to be impartial?"  
  
Ever stirred. "The girl is right," it observed serenely. "Be so good as to leave personal grudges outside the Hall, Toby and Marc." The Necromancer reluctantly nodded. "Continue," Ever encouraged.  
  
"As you have pleaded guilty," Celeste began, "all the remains is for a punishment to be decided upon." She shot a glance at the small man at the end. "Despite what Toby may want, we do not have the right to ask your reasoning."  
  
Toby snorted. "You don't think so, but I say we do, Celeste," he retorted. "His actions are having repercussions as we speak - you know what the Others are doing!"  
  
"Yes, and they're doing it mostly to me," Harry spoke up mildly. "So perhaps you could get your heads out of your arses and sort yourselves out?" From his right came a cough; Was was attempting to cover its laughter.  
  
"Thanks for that, uh, observation, Harry," Jessica began wryly. "However unsuitable your wording may have been, the sentiment was right. What punishment is fitting?"  
  
"I say they shouldn't see each other anymore - personally, I mean," spoke up the woman who had remained silent so far. "That would rectify the situation with the Others, and it's a punishment. What do you think?"  
  
"I agree with Robyn," Toby spoke up. "That seems a fitting punishment for the relationship."  
  
"All in favour?" Jessica inquired. There was a chorus of ayes. "And against?"  
  
"Me!" Nathalie piped up, drawing a grim laugh from Rachel.  
  
"And for the negligence?" Mika inquired. "What punishment for that?"  
  
"Take away his rights," Marc said loudly. "He's used our power for his own ends, so take away his rights."  
  
"Unacceptable," Celeste spat. "We don't have the power, much less the right, to take away Harry's rights." She glared at the other Necromancers. "Ban him from entering the Spirit Lands for a few weeks," she said finally. "Stop him from talking to spirits. That is the more traditional punishment - and the one that is most fitting!"  
  
They cast a vote, with Harry observing with detached curiosity. Finally Rachel rose.  
  
"Harry Potter, you are hereby banned from seeing the Creator of the Others in a personal relationship. You are banned from entering the Spirit Lands for a time of one moon cycle, and you may not speak to or see spirits for two weeks." She brought down her hand, fist clenched, and her silver ring banged on the table. "This hearing is over."  
  
Harry immediately rose and started walking to the other end of the Hall. Nathalie, after a moment's confusion, followed him with a cry. The Necromancers silently watched him go. The Creators rose. Was, Is and Ever disappeared, but Never, with an almost scornful glance at the Necromancers, followed Harry, finally catching up with him at the other end of the Hall.  
  
"Harry - Harry, wait."  
  
Harry swung around, his face so carefully blank that Nathalie, catching her breath at his side, winced.  
  
"What?" he demanded. "You heard them. I can't see you anymore, Never. You may be allowed to go against them, but I'm not - and I don't want to."  
  
Never blinked. "You mean you don't want to be with me," it said slowly. "Is that what you're saying, Harry?"  
  
Harry threw up his arms. "Why do I have to know what I want?" he demanded. "Look, right now, it's not a possibility. So why don't you just go and concentrate on your Others like you're supposed to?"  
  
"Because I care about you," Never snapped. "I love you, dammit."  
  
Harry started at the words that they had shied away from for six years. Then he looked down at the ring resting on his hand.  
  
"No," he said dazedly. "No, I don't think you can love, Never. And I don't think I can love you." He turned to leave, one hand reaching out for Nathalie's. When her hand didn't clasp his, he looked down at where she had been a moment ago.  
  
Then he looked around, sudden panic filling him. Then he stretched out his magic as far as he could.  
  
Then he screamed his rage and pain.  
  
She was gone.  
  
The Others had taken her.  
  
And Harry was banned from the lands of the spirits.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
To be continued. 


	18. Waiting For News

Author's Notes: Thanks for all the reviews.  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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"They've done what?"  
  
Draco stared at Harry, who was pacing back and forth in front of him frantically.  
  
"Barred me from entering the lands of the spirits," Harry repeated feverishly. "And they won't even lift the ban to find my own *daughter*!" He picked up the glass of water on the table, and threw it against the wall. It broke. Draco ignored it. He felt like doing exactly the same, it was only the famed Malfoy cool that was stopping him.  
  
"Have they gone to find her themselves?" he ventured. Harry nodded, too furious to speak. "They'll find her, Harry."  
  
"Maybe," Harry muttered. "Dammit." He threw the plate, scattering crumbs over the carpets, and the broken china joined the shards of glass against the wall.  
  
"Sit down," Draco snapped. Astonished, it never occurred to Harry to disobey. He dropped into the chair opposite Draco. "They will find her. Do you hear? If they don't, ignore the ban and go yourself, but you have to wait. Understood?"  
  
Harry nodded dumbly. Draco took a breath. "In the meantime," he continued, "you can tell me about the rest of the hearing. Or was it more a trial?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "We call them hearings, but they're like trials, I guess. Uh.I got charged with everything I thought I would be - they're blaming me for the Others. They've made me break it off with Never, stopped me seeing spirits, and I'm not allowed into the lands of the spirits. That's about it."  
  
Draco grimaced. "Pretentious arses." Harry raised an eyebrow. "Okay, I don't know them, but I'm sure they are," Draco defended himself. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Oh, sure," Harry replied sarcastically. "The Others have taken my daughter, and I have no idea why."  
  
Draco gritted his teeth. "Patience," he reminded Harry. "And I meant about Never."  
  
Harry frowned. Clearly, he'd almost forgotten about the Creator. "I dunno. Don't have much choice about it now, do I?" He was, Draco noticed, twisting the gold ring on his finger, a nervous motion that had been very familiar once. "I'm taking a coward's way out of it, though."  
  
"Nothing wrong with that," Draco reminded him, attempting a smirk. Harry shrugged.  
  
"To you, maybe."  
  
Draco frowned. "You know I'm not like that. Harry. Or you ought to know."  
  
Harry shifted. "Yes, I know. I'm sorry. It's just...Nathalie."  
  
He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself, leaning forward slightly. His glasses were half-falling off his nose, but he didn't care. He reached up one hand to tug on his earring.  
  
"I don't know what to do," he admitted finally. "I need her, Draco. We've barely been apart in nine years. She's my little girl."  
  
Draco sighed, crossed the distance between them, and hugged Harry to him. "I know," he soothed. "I know."  
  
Harry stiffened suddenly. "They told me that they wanted something I have," he murmured. "I thought they meant Never, but what if..."  
  
Draco felt sick. "What if they meant Nathalie?" he finished. "Harry, why could they possibly want Nathalie? She's just a child."  
  
Harry leant into Draco. "I don't know," he moaned. "She's just a little girl, and she's mine, and they have her." He pulled out of Draco's embrace, and picked up the second glass on the table. It joined the broken glass and plate against the wall. "Sorry."  
  
"Well, I'd much prefer that you break the china than the windows, so don't worry about it," Draco told him, managing a faint smile. "Look, why don't you do something useful?"  
  
Harry stared at him. "Like what?" he demanded. "There's nothing to do, thanks to those stupid - bloody - Necromancers!" Each word was punctuated with a crash from various windows in the room.  
  
Draco sighed. "I don't know - fix those things maybe?" Harry blinked. "Bloody hell...come here, you stupid idiot." Harry returned to Draco's arms, and leant his head on Draco's shoulder. 'She'll be alright. She will be."  
  
"She has to be. I don't think I can survive without her."  
  
"Don't say that," Draco commanded, alarmed. "Don't say that, Harry, please!" Harry shrugged. His eyes were clouded with pain. "No, Harry. You can't say that, please."  
  
Harry was about to reply when a ghost appeared in front of them, eyes frantically moving about the room. Harry pulled away from Draco, and they both rose, confused. Draco frowned; he almost recognised the ghost...  
  
"Uh, who are you?" Draco demanded.  
  
"Cedric, have they found Nathalie?" Harry demanded urgently. "And, uh, you're a ghost?"  
  
Cedric Diggory shook his head. "No, I'm not a ghost, loads of us have banded together to make me appear, since you've been banned - not that you don't deserve it - and no, there's no word about Nathalie. I knew you'd be panicking though, so I came."  
  
Harry was chewing on his lip. "You shouldn't have done that," he muttered. "You'll use up too much energy...the Others..."  
  
But Cedric gave him a small smile. "No, we'll be fine," he assured Harry. "We have some, uh, divine help."  
  
Harry frowned. "Never?"  
  
"No, Was. Since, you know, it's our Creator." Cedric grinned at Harry's dumbfounded expression.  
  
"The Creator of the Dead?" Draco guessed. Cedric nodded. "But...urgh. I don't get any of this."  
  
"Was hates me," Harry explained distractedly. "Or at least, it hated that Never and I were together."  
  
"And I fully expect an explanation of that," Cedric jumped in quickly.  
  
"But are they all working together to stop the Others?" Harry demanded intently. Cedric looked away. Draco grimaced.  
  
"Do god-like beings ever cooperate?" he asked them both lightly.  
  
"Occasionally," Harry muttered. "Dammit, I can't believe them!" he began pacing across the carpet, and Draco sat back down, burying his face in his hands for a moment. When he looked up at Cedric, he was glaring.  
  
"You know, I'd almost calmed him down," he said waspishly. "And then you had to come along and get him all wound up again."  
  
"I'm not wound up," Harry denied automatically, still pacing. "Why won't they let me go?"  
  
"Uh, because you were having an affair with a Creator?" Cedric offered. "Seriously, Harry, calm down. The Necromancers will find her, and all the spirits are looking as well. We'll find her."  
  
Harry stilled, and raised his eyes to meet Cedric's, deadly serious. "They'd better. Or I'll know the reason why."  
  
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To be continued. 


	19. Decide To Help

Author's Notes: Thanks for all the reviews!  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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After Cedric had gone, Draco had managed to calm Harry down a little, but now, as dawn was arriving and they realised just how long Nathalie had been missing, Harry was beginning to panic again. He was yet again pacing, this time in the hall. Draco sat on the stairs, watching him with his arms supporting his head. Neither of them had slept, but only Draco seemed to feel any effect from it.  
  
"We should have heard something by now," Harry exploded suddenly. "They said they'd contact me. Why haven't we heard anything?"  
  
"Maybe they can't get through the wards?" Draco suggested wearily. "I'd take them down, only the Aurors are sure to be combing Britain for you, so we can't take the risk." Harry whirled on him, his eyes blazing. "No, Harry." Draco was firm. "Do you want Nathalie to come back only to find you in Azkaban?"  
  
Harry shuddered. "No. You're right. Sorry." He resumed pacing. Draco was sure he could see a path worn into the carpet from him; five steps one way, then five the other. "But we should have heard from them."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes, but was thankfully spared any reply by the doorbell ringing.  
  
Harry looked at him in disbelief. "You have a doorbell? Aren't knockers more, uh, traditional?" Draco shrugged, pushed Harry out of sight behind the door, and opened it.  
  
Rachel brushed past him. "Where's Harry?" Draco raised an eyebrow and closed the door. Harry sprang forward and grabbed Rachel's arm. "Harry, honey, let go."  
  
"Have you found her?" Harry demanded urgently, letting go of her. "Have you?" She looked away, and he resumed pacing. "Dammit."  
  
"I just came to tell you that we aren't making any progress," she told him softly. "We've searched all over the spirits lands, but there's no sign of her or the Others."  
  
"Have you asked the Creators?" Harry demanded wildly. "Surely they can -"  
  
"Was has helped the spirits and ghosts to search," Rachel interrupted him. "Is and Ever are staying out of it. Never..."  
  
Harry flinched. "Yes?" She hesitated.  
  
"Tell him," Draco spoke up harshly. "You can scarcely do any more damage." Rachel narrowed her eyes, and Harry shook his head.  
  
"Don't, Draco," he warned quietly before looking back to Rachel. "Let me guess: it's hiding in a corner of the Halls, sulking."  
  
"Not exactly," Rachel admitted. "It's, uh, really upset. Sulking isn't quite the right word - more like the equivalent of crying?" Harry flinched again, and turned away from them. "Harry..."  
  
"No," he said firmly. "It's better this way. But...there's really no sign of her?"  
  
"No."  
  
"And they still won't let Harry look himself?" Draco wanted to know.  
  
"No, the ruling stands, it can't be retracted under any circumstances," Rachel explained. "It's part of the rules of the Hall of Necromancers - what's said in there is binding."  
  
Draco nodded slowly, then looked at Harry. *I'm going to regret this.* "Is there any way I can go?" he demanded.  
  
Harry turned and stared. Rachel frowned.  
  
"I think so," she said slowly. "Actually, yes, I'm fairly sure..."  
  
"No," Harry cut in loudly. "No way, never, not in a million years, and no."  
  
"Harry, I might be able to find our daughter."  
  
Harry shook his head. "Draco, you don't know the risks," he said pleadingly. "I don't want to lose you too."  
  
"You wouldn't," Draco said firmly. He looked at Rachel. "Can I go? Is it physically possible?" Rachel looked doubtfully between them, but nodded. Draco turned back to Harry. "Harry, love, I have to do this. One of us has to go, and they won't let you - don't you see that I have to do this? For Nathalie, I have to do this." Harry was gazing at him inscrutably, and Draco grew desperate. "Harry, don't make me go without knowing that you agree. Because I will, but I'll hate it."  
  
Harry took a breath. "Fine," he said harshly. "Go, then." He turned and stalked off down the hall. The kitchen door slammed behind him. Draco flinched, then looked back at Rachel, who was regarding him with a strange, almost respectful look.  
  
"Show me how to go?" he asked, and she nodded.  
  
"It won't be easy," she warned him. "It may be painful - I wouldn't know, but from things I've heard...I won't be able to make it easy for you, I'm sorry."  
  
"If you get me there, and help me find Nathalie, you'll be doing more than enough," Draco said fervently. "Just...tell me. You're sure she is in the spirit lands?"  
  
Rachel nodded. "Yes, we're sure. We've felt her there...but we can't pinpoint exactly where, and the spirits can't help us - the Others have polluted everything so much..." She shook her head. "I admire you, Draco, for what you're about to do. I don't know whether I'd do it."  
  
Draco glanced at the closed kitchen door, and shrugged. "You would," he asserted. "If you loved someone enough."  
  
"Harry?"  
  
Draco gave her a cocky grin. "No, Nathalie. Why, who did you think I meant?" She gave him a withering look that clearly said that she saw through his act, and then took hold of his arm and marched him through his front door.  
  
"We have to go to your graveyard," she explained. "It's exempt from your wards for Necromancers, and if I take you, for you too. It's the safest - and fastest - way to get through to the land or the spirits. If you're still sure."  
  
"Of course I'm still sure," he said peevishly. "I don't change my mind every five minutes, unlike some people."  
  
"Just checking, Malfoy."  
  
They reached the graveyard. In the dim light they hurried to the centre. Rachel met Draco's eyes for one short moment before she gripped his hands and they disappeared.  
  
In Malfoy Manor, Harry stared blankly out of a window, tears running down his face.  
  
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To be continued. 


	20. Complications

Author's Notes: Thanks for all the reviews. I can't actually promise anything about Nathalie or Harry, but I can say with a completely clear conscience that Draco survives. Sort of. Damn, I really shouldn't have said that.  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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Draco screams as pain knifes through him. Then the pain is gone suddenly, and he looks around himself in surprise. Rachel stands near, watching him carefully.  
  
"Are you alright?" she demands. "Did it hurt?"  
  
"I'm fine," he answers. "Barely hurt at all." He looked around again. "This is the land of the spirits?" The air is thick, foggy - there is a dim light coming from somewhere, but he can't find the source.  
  
"Yes," Rachel agrees softly. "It was better, before. The Others are taking over. I think..." She hesitates. "We haven't told Harry. But we think we know why they have taken Nathalie."  
  
"Tell me." It is no question, and she knows it.  
  
"They want to move into our world, Draco. If that happened..." She trails off, and Draco grimaces. "Come on. We have to find Nathalie." She walks off, and he follows her as quickly as he can. He can barely see two feet ahead of him; her cloak keeps on disappearing, but finally she stops and turns back to him. He almost bumps into her.  
  
"This is the entrance to the domain of the Others," she explains quietly. "I'm not allowed in there, not without another Necromancer. Will you be alright by yourself?"  
  
Draco looks up at the dark doorway wit apprehension. "The Others...what are they like, Rachel?"  
  
Rachel gazes at him in sympathy. "The opposite and equals of Necromancers," she tells him. "Darkness, Draco. But they shouldn't be able to harm you."  
  
She walks off into the fog. Draco is left by the doorway. "That wasn't exactly what I meant," he mutters grumpily. Then he takes a deep breath, and steps through the doorway.  
  
He has never imagined anything like this. Nothing in his world, in the living world, is like this, and now he knows why the Others are spoken of in such hushed voices. He can barely see his hand in front of his face - he understands now what Rachel and Harry have been saying about the pollution of the land of the spirits.  
  
Dead silence. He can hear nothing, see nothing - he tries to cry out, but nothing comes out of his mouth. Something brushes past him, and he whirls, but nothing is there.  
  
He finds his voice. "Who are you? Where's Nathalie?"  
  
A low chuckle - many chuckles - sounds out of the darkness. "You know who we are, mortal. We are the Others." He turns around, trying to see something - anything. They laugh at him again. "Stop, mortal. You will not see us."  
  
"Why?" he demands. "Why won't I see you?"  
  
"Because you are in us," the voices cackle. He starts in surprise. "Ah, the Necromancers did not tell you that, did they? They did not tell you about us, not really." Draco turns and turns, trying to see them still. "Come then, mortal. Come and find your daughter."  
  
And the silence lifts. He can now hear a child crying, somewhere not too far away. It sounds like Nathalie.blindly he stumbles towards where he thinks the crying is coming from. He can find nothing, and now the crying seems to be coming from somewhere else. A shadow looms up out of the darkness, and he stumbles backwards with a cry that doesn't sound, turning and running in the endless darkness.  
  
The crying grows louder, and he hopes that he has found her. Minutes pass - the crying seems to never get closer - and then he almost stumbles over her.  
  
"Daddy!" she cries, and latches onto him, her arms around his neck. He hugs her tightly, then looks her over carefully. She is unharmed - he is thankful for that - but she is frightened, and tired, and hungry. "Daddy, you came!"  
  
"Yes, little bit," he assures her. "Of course I came. Are you alright?"  
  
She nods. "Is Papa okay?" she demands. "He was really upset about the hearing, and I guess me being kidnapped wouldn't exactly help."  
  
Draco stares, then blinks. "Yes, he's fine," he replies, a little dazedly. "He's worried about you - come on, we have to get out of here." He takes her hand and begins to walk. She pulls at him, stopping him. "Nathalie, what is it?"  
  
Her young face is unusually grave. "I can't leave," she tells him. "The Others did...a spell, sort of. I can't leave, it'll...do something."  
  
"Do what?" Draco demands impatiently. "Nathalie, we *have* to get out of here."  
  
She shakes her head adamantly. "No, Daddy. I can't leave. I think it'll let the Others into our world." Draco freezes. "I heard them talking," she continues. "I can't leave, Daddy."  
  
Draco sighs. "And I don't think I can get out without your help. I guess we're stuck then." He sits down - the ground is cold, and Nathalie sits in his lap, still clinging to him. "Oh, little bit. We are in a mess, aren't we?"  
  
She looks up at him suspiciously. "Did you and Papa have another argument?" Draco hesitates, and she glares at him. "Daddy, did you?"  
  
"He couldn't come here, and he didn't want me to either," he admits. "But don't worry, Nathalie. We'll be alright." *I hope,* he adds silently. *And I hope that someone figures out something's wrong before we're stuck here for an eternity.*  
  
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Harry was still pacing the hall when the doorbell rang, several hours after Draco had left with Rachel. He didn't hesitate in opening the door, although he realised a split second later that he probably shouldn't have opened it.  
  
But it was only Rachel. He didn't let her in, his eyes fixed demandingly on her. "Any news? Has he found Nathalie? Are they both alright?"  
  
Rachel shook her head. "Harry, we should have told you this a long time ago. I'm sorry."  
  
Harry frowned. *I really don't like the sound of this. She sounds too much like Dumbledore.* "Told me what?" he demanded suspiciously. "Sorry for what?"  
  
Rachel sighed. "Harry...Nathalie is important. More so than you could ever imagine. She's., well, simply put, she's Chaotic."  
  
"But we knew that," Harry objected slowly. "We're all chaotic, it's part of who we are as Necromancers."  
  
But Rachel shook her head. "No, Harry. She's more. She's...she's named in a prophecy as a link. A doorway between this world and that of the Others."  
  
Harry stared blankly at her. "What does that mean?" he demanded finally. "That it would be dangerous to bring her back? That Draco has gone into even more danger?"  
  
Rachel was gazing at him sympathetically. "Well, if they'd kept her in the spirit lands, there wouldn't have been any problem with bringing her back. But they've taken her into their own domain, Harry. Now it's next to impossible. No, it *is* impossible. If we bring her back, it would rip a hole in the fabric of the world and let them come here."  
  
Harry had turned away during her speech. His eyes were closed; he couldn't quite believe what Rachel was trying to tell him.  
  
"Are you telling me," he said at last, his voice shaking badly, "that there is no way I can get my daughter back?"  
  
"That's what I'm saying, Harry. I'm sorry."  
  
Harry nodded slowly as he considered. Then he pulled out his wand. "*Accio cloak!*" He ran a hand through his hair, pushed his glasses back up his nose, and tugged his earring thoughtfully before his cloak sped towards him. He pulled it on, and fastened the silver skull clasp.  
  
"Harry, what are you doing?" Rachel, alarmed, demanded. She was still standing in the doorway, but she moved aside as Harry stepped out, closed the front door, and took off towards the wood and the graveyard. "Harry, no, don't even think it - Harry, stop, dammit!"  
  
"No," Harry said crisply. "They have my daughter and my husband, and I'll be damned if I let them keep them."  
  
He strode off, but Rachel faltered and stopped. He had almost disappeared into the wood by the time she found her voice.  
  
"He's your HUSBAND?" she screeched.  
  
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To be continued. 


	21. No Choice

Author's Notes: Just a warning: there are two chapters after this until the end. Just so none of you go into shock or anything. And, um, thanks for the reviews.  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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They are trying to stop him from getting to her. Spirits swarm around him, pressing him back, but he is stubborn. He pushes on. He can see some of his fellow Necromancers in the crowd, calling out for him to stop, but he ignores them. Why should he not?  
  
His daughter is waiting for him. He can see the doorway now, tendrils of smoky darkness escaping it, adding to the grime of the spirit lands. They are tugging him back, but slowly he progresses towards the door. He reaches out, touches the darkness, is almost through the doorway when some magical force shoves him back. Spirits melt into nothingness around him, reappearing as he hits the cold earth.  
  
He tries again, and again is thrown backwards. He looks around frantically for the Necromancers, who he thinks may be able to tell him what has happened. But they have gone, and none of the spirits will meet his eyes.  
  
"Please," he cries out desperately. "Please, someone, help me!" There is no answer, only a faint murmuring from somewhere. He shakes his head. "Please..." A flash of light, and he finds himself in the Halls of the Creators.  
  
"No!" he screams. "No, take me back, let me go back, I have to find her!" Is and Ever are walking towards him, and he can't see Was and Never.  
  
"Harry, calm," Is soothes. "Take deep breaths. Calm down."  
  
"Calm down? Calm down?" Harry is hysterical. "How do you expect me to calm down? They have them, the Others have them, and she said that I can't have them back, and I need..." Tears are running down his face. "I need..."  
  
They embrace him. "We know," one of them - he can't see which - murmurs. "We understand, Harry." And he cries. "We know it isn't easy for you."  
  
"No," he mutters. "No, it won't happen. I won't let her stay there."  
  
"But you cannot bring her out," Ever reminds him, oh-so-gently. "It would give the Others passage into the mortal world, and we cannot allow that."  
  
"But I have to do something," he says helplessly. "I *have* to, don't you see? She's my daughter, she's my little one..."  
  
"And the other?" Is inquires carefully. "The other mortal, Draco Malfoy. You want him with you also." He nods. "But what if you could have but one, Harry?"  
  
He shakes his head. "No, I can't accept that. Please, can't you do anything?"  
  
They break away from him abruptly. "We cannot," Ever tells him regretfully. "Only Never can curb the Others now, and Never is..." It shakes its head. "That would be very hard for it just now," it completes tactfully.  
  
He reaches out and grabs Ever. It stares at him in surprise. "I don't care about how hard it would be for Never," he growls. "Find it. Take me to it - right now - or I swear, I will pull Nathalie out of there and damn the world."  
  
"No, Harry." Was's voice, coming from behind him, is like a whiplash. "I know you better than that, much to my chagrin. I know that you wouldn't do that."  
  
"I would," he states. "If there's no other way to get Nathalie and Draco back."  
  
"But there is. Or weren't you listening to Is and Ever? Never can stop the Others and make them voluntarily give back Nathalie and Draco."  
  
"From what people have been telling me, Never is out of action right now," he retorts. "Or were they wrong?"  
  
"If anyone can snap it out of it, it's you, Harry," Was reminds him. "It loves you."  
  
"None of you are capable of love," he snarls. "And I was stupid to think you were." He holds up his hand to show Was the gold band there. "You see this? This is love. This is what love is. Commitment, and trust, and equality. And do you know who gave this to me?" A part of his mind, the rational part, knows that they do know, that they know everything, but he has to speak. "Draco gave this to me ten years ago, when we married."  
  
"Harry."  
  
"And I can't let him go again," he continues, not hearing - not caring - about whoever spoke his name. "I can't, and I won't let Nathalie go, she's only nine, for Christ's sake, she never asked to be this...Chaotic portal thing."  
  
"Harry."  
  
"I need them," he whispers. "I need them to keep me alive."  
  
"HARRY!" He turns, and Never is there, a stricken expression on his face. "Harry, please. Don't say things like that."  
  
"They're true," he whispers. "Can you help?"  
  
"I'm not sure," Never admits. "I can stop the Others, I can take off their spells, but...but Nathalie is naturally a Chaotic portal, it's what she is. I don't know if I can get her out, even with the spells disabled."  
  
"Get her out."  
  
"Harry..."  
  
"No, Never." He is adamant on this point. "You say you love me. So prove it. Get her out of there, and get Draco out too."  
  
"Draco is easy," it sighs. "But Nathalie...you have to understand this, Harry. If I pull her out , it might kill her. If I go in and try to push her out, it certainly will kill her. The Others have tied part of her to their domain. To take her away from that would be the same as ripping her in half."  
  
He shudders. "What can I do? There must be something I can do."  
  
"Harry..." Never shakes its head. "I can't...if I tell you the only way to get her out with no risks, you'll do it, and I don't...  
  
"Tell me," he demands. "I need to know - and you have no right to keep this from me, Never."  
  
"Harry, patience," Is gently remonstrates. "This is no easy thing to tell."  
  
"What is it?" he demands wildly. "What can be worse than the knowledge that if I do nothing, she is going to die?"  
  
"There is a way for her to be saved, as Never said." Ever glides in front of Never serenely. "It is very dangerous, Harry. For her to leave the domain of the Others...you must remain there." He stiffens in shock. "Her blood flows in you also," Ever continues. "If you stay, it is the equivalent of part of her staying."  
  
"I..." He has no words.  
  
"That is not all," Was takes over, speaking ruthlessly. "You must go into the Abyss."  
  
He jerks backward in horror and fear. "You...you can't be serious."  
  
"Deadly serious, Harry." Was looks almost sorry for him. Is and Ever are silent, bright beacons that will not save him. And Never...Never is weeping, spilling tears that Creators have never and should never have in their beings.  
  
"You must choose, Harry," Is tells him finally. "You do not have long. The Others are almost beyond stopping."  
  
"How can I choose?" he whispers. "There is no choice." He looks at Never. "Stop them." Never nods, and disappears.  
  
"What will you do, Harry?" Ever wants to know.  
  
He shivers; he feels cold, but he knows it has nothing to do with the heat here. "You know what I will do, Ever," he tells it. "You have always known." He closes his eyes. The three Creators look at each other, and shake their heads. Yes, they have always known, but they still wish they could do something about it.  
  
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To be continued. 


	22. Into the Abyss

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews. I'm posting these chapters together since the last chapter is more like an epilogue. And, uh, please don't kill me? I'm tearing myself up about this, I don't need you guys to do it too!  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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The wait seems to have been endless; it has grown colder, and Nathalie now huddles closer to Draco, seeking warmth that he cannot give her. His grey eyes are constantly searching all around them for any sign of help - or the Others - but the blackness is infinite, and he can barely see Nathalie, curled up in his lap.  
  
"Daddy," she murmurs at last, "do you think Papa will come?" There is a fearful note in her voice, and he hugs her closer, trying to comfort.  
  
"I'm sure he will," he replies warmly. "Your Papa loves you."  
  
"And he loves you," she asserts with a yawn. "I'm so tired..."  
  
"Try to sleep," he tells her. "We don't know when someone will come." As she drifts into sleep, he wonders uneasily whether anyone will come. He wonders whether Harry will act true to character and disobey the Necromancers' orders.  
  
Then he dismisses his doubts with a single glance at the ring that he put on before Harry had gone to his hearing. He knows Harry will come.  
  
He just hopes that he comes soon.  
  
It is only a few minutes later when there is a flash of brilliant light in the midst of the darkness. Draco cries out, blinded by the light after so much darkness, and he bends over Nathalie to protect her from it as much as he can. From all around him come the shrieks of the Others - they are furious at being ordered about by Never, although Draco does not know this.  
  
Then a hand grasps him. "Draco!"  
  
"Harry! You came!"  
  
"Of course." Draco tries to stand up, but Nathalie is still asleep on his lap. "Is she alright?" Harry asks anxiously. "They haven't...done anything?"  
  
"No, she's fine," Draco reassures him. "She said they did some spell - she wasn't sure what though..."  
  
"I know, Never's taken it off," Harry tells him. "But there have been complications, Drake."  
  
Draco smiles slightly at his old nickname, then frowns as he fully takes in Harry's appearance. "Harry, you - have you been *crying*?" Harry shifts uncomfortably, and Draco realises that the 'complications' are more serious than he had given any thought to. "Harry, what's wrong? Tell me."  
  
"No, Draco." Harry is firm. "You don't need to know. Just...I love you. You know that, right?"  
  
Draco nods. "I know. I love you too, Harry." He carefully shakes Nathalie, who yawns and opens her eyes. "Nathalie, little bit, look who's here." She looks up sleepily, and then her eyes widen and she jumps up, flinging her arms around Harry with relief.  
  
"Oh, Papa, Papa!" she cries. "You're here!"  
  
He hugs her close, almost as if, Draco muses, he doesn't think he'll ever see her again. That thought sticks in his mind, and suspicion grows as Harry doesn't let go of Nathalie for a long moment.  
  
"Of course I came," he murmurs to her. "Oh, cherie. Are you alright?" She nods, and he closes his eyes in relief. Draco is staring at him now, horrified at the truth he has stumbled across. As if sensing Draco's gaze, Harry opens his eyes and looks up.  
  
"No," Draco whispers. "No, Harry, tell me I'm wrong. Tell me that you're not about to do what I think you're going to do." Harry shakes his head, but Nathalie pulls away from him, staring up at him with her father's grey eyes demandingly fixed on Harry.  
  
"Papa, what are you going to do?" she wants to know. "You can't take me out of here, I know you can't."  
  
"No, I can't," Harry admits quietly. "But you're going home, cherie, don't worry. You're going to go home and look after your Daddy, aren't you? Because he needs a lot of looking after."  
  
"But you're going to be there," Nathalie says slowly. "You're going to look after both of us, Papa." There is a pause, and Harry cannot look either of them in the eye. "Papa, aren't you?"  
  
Harry lets her drop to the ground. She steps back and clasps Draco's hand, scared. Both she and Draco are staring at him disbelievingly, but he does not answer their silent question.  
  
"Never will take you back to our world," he says instead, quietly and purposefully. "You'll have to be careful, Draco. The Ministry will still be after Nathalie, and she's not fully trained - one or other of the Necromancers will come to train her, but don't let them take her away from you."  
  
"Harry, you - " Draco is stunned. He doesn't know what to say. Harry shakes his head. "But Harry..."  
  
"Nathalie," Harry murmurs, and she hugs him tightly, hiding her face in his robes. "Nathalie, you'll be alright. I love you. Remember that?"  
  
"Papa," is all she can manage before, with a cry, she detaches herself and returns to hold tightly to Draco.  
  
"Don't do this, Harry," Draco asks pleadingly. Harry shakes his head.  
  
"The only way she can leave is if I go into the Abyss," he explains. "So that is where I shall go." Nathalie is crying now, making no attempt to hide her tears from either of her fathers. "Nathalie, cherie, please."  
  
"You can't expect her to send you off with best wishes," Draco reminds him harshly. "What is this...Abyss?"  
  
"The end of everything," Harry tells him. "Where all things go to die. Even ghosts, spirits and the Others. There is no returning from that place." He shrugs. "There isn't any other option, Draco. I won't let her stay here."  
  
"And what about me?" Draco whispers. "Did you give any thought to me? To how I might feel about you killing yourself?"  
  
"It's not killing myself," Harry tries to protest, but there is no truth in it. "Draco...I'm sorry. I truly am. But I can't leave her here."  
  
"You promised you'd never leave me alone," Nathalie says shrilly. "You promised, Papa!"  
  
"But you won't be alone," he reminds her. "You'll have your daddy. And you'll meet new people, and go to new places, and have the most glorious life. And I'll be watching you."  
  
This lie would have worked on another child, but Nathalie shakes her head. "No," she whispers. "No, you won't be watching me, Papa. Not if you go into the Abyss." A strange look enters her eyes, but neither Harry nor Draco see it, for they have eyes only for each other for a moment.  
  
Never appears. "The Others have relinquished their claim on her," he says brusquely. Harry turns, his eyes thankful. "Harry, please reconsider."  
  
"Take me," Harry says simply. "I'm ready."  
  
"Well we're not," Draco mutters almost viciously, pulling Harry to him and kissing him fiercely. Harry grips Draco, then pulls away.  
  
"Love you," he breaths. Draco cannot reply; he pushes Nathalie forward, and she hugs Harry tightly. "I love you, Nathalie. Love you, love you."  
  
"Love you, love you, Papa," she murmurs. Her cheeks are wet from her tears, but she is no longer crying. Harry looks back at Never and nods. Never steps to one side and motions to the blackness behind him.  
  
"It's there," he says quietly. "A few feet away. The Abyss. You must go." Harry nods, takes a deep breath, and begins to walk.  
  
"Brain-dead Gryffindor," Draco calls out suddenly. Harry pauses, and turns back with a small smile.  
  
"Smart-ass Slytherin," he retorts. His eyes are glittering strangely. Then Nathalie pulls away from Draco and begins to run into the darkness, towards the Abyss. Harry's eyes widen, and he reaches out his arms to stop her, as do Draco and Never. She dodges them all with single-minded determination, her plaits bouncing as she runs harder and faster.  
  
She disappears into the darkness, and a moment later there is a loud crash, like thunder. The Others are screeching, but Never and Draco can barely hear them over Harry's screams. They grab him - he is trying to get to the Abyss, to get her back.  
  
"No, Harry," Never tells him. "She made a choice."  
  
"No," Harry screams. "No, she's just a child, no!"  
  
Never meets Draco's eyes, and Draco nods. A moment later, Harry and Draco are in Malfoy Manor again. The Manor was filled with Harry's screams of anguish.  
  
"She's just a child," he cried. "She's just my little baby...why, Drake? Why did she do it?"  
  
Draco, tears running down his face, shook his head. "I don't know, love," he breathed. "Perhaps...perhaps so that you wouldn't."  
  
They cried together.  
  
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To be continued.  
  
I repeat: please don't kill me. 


	23. Epilogue

Author's Notes: This is an epilogue.and, uh, still don't kill me?  
  
Disclaimer: See part one.  
  
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Midnight, with a September cold that penetrated the bones of the people gathered in the graveyard. They were all wearing dark mourning robes, and were all gathered around a small, white marker.  
  
Silence ruled over all of them. At the front of the small group of mourners, Draco Malfoy stood with his husband, looking down at the grave of his daughter.  
  
"She would have wanted to be buried at midnight," Harry whispered at last. "She and I belong to the night." Draco nodded silently. "She...I loved her. I still love her."  
  
"She loves you, wherever she is," Draco assured him. "Never doubt that." Harry nodded slowly.  
  
The mourners began to leave; they all came up and murmured almost- meaningless condolences to Harry and Draco. The Necromancers left first, then the Order, then Hermione and Dumbledore. Remus rested his hand on Harry's shoulder for a moment before moving to wait for Sirius, who came as soon as Harry called him from Africa. Sirius hugged Harry tightly, nodded at Draco, and then left them to their thoughts, with a swift glance at the two older graves, near to the new one.  
  
Finally they were alone. Harry slowly pulled something from his pocket. It was a silver skull clasp, polished to that it shone brilliantly in the darkness. He stepped forward and placed it on the grave.  
  
"I wish I could have seen her grow up. I wish I could have protected her - it's all my fault, I was careless.  
  
"We talked about this, Harry," Draco reminded him gently. "It's not your fault - the Others would have found a way of getting her, at some point or another."  
  
"I know. I can't really help it."  
  
Draco drew him close and kissed him, then they left the graveyard. They would grieve, and then they would tuck Nathalie away into a special place in their hearts, never to be forgotten. There would be other battles to be fought. There would be other children to help fill their hearts and lives.  
  
Before then, they had each other. And for once, they knew they were happy.  
  
And somewhere, past the Abyss, past the Creators, past all understanding, Nathalie knew this, and smiled at them as she twirled, her black plaits whistling through the air and her grey eyes shining.  
  
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The End.  
  
Don't kill me. Take a deep breath. Good readers.  
  
Author's Notes, take two: Yes, this is the end. No, there will not be a sequel in which Harry brings her back - she went into the Abyss, or weren't you reading?  
  
Many thanks to (takes deep breath): All my reviewers, mostly for putting up with my cliffhangers (I really started using them in Chained, and I love them now!). Also special thanks to T.K. Yuy for her surprise. It's the background for my desktop now, and I fall more in love with Nathalie every time I see it. Thanks also to my mother, for putting up with my mood swings as I tried to figure out whether Harry was being a prat or not. Thanks to my brother, for comforting me when I cried after writing chapter 22.  
  
As ever, thanks to the Goddess who is JK Rowling.  
  
I am starting to write a new fic, the new chapter of which may or may not be up tomorrow night, England time. However, I do start school again tomorrow (Thursday) and so will have a lot less time to write/update.  
  
Until next time,  
  
Sparks. 


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